


The Road Goes On

by caffeinatedmusing



Series: Adventures of an Altmer Rogue [5]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Demisexuality, Dragons, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Mention of Past Drug Abuse, Secret Identity, Vampires, alcohol use, m/m - Freeform, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:19:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 35,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6294808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinatedmusing/pseuds/caffeinatedmusing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teldryn Sero may well come to regret his choice to travel with Ceirin to Riften; thieves, crime, corruption, the odd dragon...and all this walking. All in a days work for one Altmer dragonborn, but not so much for the best spellsword out of Morrowind. If only he could strike it rich without all these complications. Sequel to One for the Road.<br/>Also posted on fanfiction.net</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The two elves staggered up off the boat and onto Windhelm’s ice- rimed docks, relieved to be on solid ground once again. The passage across had turned choppy once they had left the sheltered waters of Raven Rock’s harbor; the boat bucking whitecaps and slamming spray all over everyone. The Nord sailors had loved it, whooping and cheering for the bigger waves while they ribbed sick passengers and dared the elements. 

A late spring storm had the city in the grip of cold. Fat clumsy snowflakes tumbled down, melting the instant they landed. 

Teldryn’s lip curled at his first whiff of the place in years; a rank amalgam of garbage, sewage, and fish guts, even in the cold. Some things never changed.

_Sleeping on the floor of the one room attic apartment pressed up under the leaking eaves with four other dunmer above a shady little shop. The rent had been only slightly cheaper than their lives._

The pair stumbled up off the docks, veering around workers and fishermen. They climbed the steep stairs and passed through the gate into the narrow alleys of the city’s slum district.

"I lived here in the Gray Quarter for years... it's a wretched place full of bitter Dunmer. Let's be done quickly." Teldryn kept his head down, hood up and scarf pulled close around his face. His arms were folded over his chest for warmth.

The very design of the city; claustrophobic streets with strangely angled courtyards, made sure no one felt like taking their time. Windhelm was a city that knew productivity. It knew paranoia. It knew defense. And it knew violence. Those things which had been bled into its very bones by the ancient Nords as a means to survive had a way of keeping the residents on edge even now. 

The spellsword’s shoulders hunched as he hitched his pack up higher and kept his arms close to his body. Someone shouldered past him. He resisted the urge to turn with the strike and send the offender tumbling, but he did drop a hand to his coin purse just in case. It was unharmed.

_His shoulder blade cracking as he was slammed into the stone wall by a beefy Nord slurring out his hate on sour breath reeking of ale and rotting teeth while his cohorts relieved Teldryn of his wages._

Windhelm had been a core of anti-Dunmer sentiment long before Ulfric Stormcloak had been born, deposed, and then executed.

“Where to then? There’s the corner club up on the next street, or there’s Candlehearth?” Ceirin cupped his fingers around his mouth, blowing on them for warmth.

Teldryn suspected they would be safer at the corner club. The cultural differences were often… noticeable, even when bigotry wasn’t the issue. The Candlehearth was a Nord’s tavern in a Nord’s city.

He, however, also dreaded running into anyone he had known while he had lived here. It had been a long while, but even so…Former co-workers, roommates, and old lovers were high up his list of people to avoid right after enemies, for everyone’s peace of mind. 

The anonymity of two mer in the latter place would be a sure thing. If they could tolerate the grumbling, the stares, and the intentionally watered- down drinks. 

“You pick. I just want to get indoors.” He shook his head and shrugged. The internal debate didn’t leave him with any great ideas and he was getting colder by minute.

“Alright. Candlehearth, then. I just have to run a quick errand first.” 

At Teldryn’s suspicious look, he clarified. 

“Not that kind of errand. I just have some stuff left over from that last tomb that I wanted to sell before we trek all the way down to Riften.”

“Lead on.” 

Teldryn followed the taller mer as he ducked through the crowds and made his way across several intersections and then down a steep split level alley lined with shops. 

He noticed that a good deal of construction was being done around the city; scaffolding up for repairs, new roofing tiles, signboards sporting fresh paint, and more streetlamps than he remembered. Imperial soldiers patrolled the walls and stood stationed at intersections, but people were relaxed and going about their business. The poverty was still there, but the oppression seemed to be lifting.

He was so caught up in looking around that he almost failed to notice the storefront Ceirin was heading for. Pulling his hood deeper around his face, he hurried to follow, praying no one recognized him.

He relaxed when the dunmer behind the counter wasn’t anyone he knew. The shopkeeper greeted Ceirin with a smile; they seemed to know one another from previous deals and fell right to business. Teldryn let his hood fall back, enjoying the warmth on his face and ears. His gaze fell on a silver pitcher on one shelf. Someone had taken the time to polish it to a reflective shine. Peering into it, he finger combed his wind flattened mohawk back into some semblance of itself before he looked around. 

The place didn’t seem to have changed much beyond the face behind the counter. 

He was examining a simple wooden mug, in better condition than the one he had, when the bells tied to the door jingled and someone else came into the shop. He turned to see who it was and froze. The dunmer in the doorway spotted him and did the same. There was a long uncomfortable space where they stared at one another, before new arrival turned and walked back out, leaving the door to slam closed behind him. Teldryn set the mug back down. He moved over to stand closer to Ceirin.

The merchant was busy, his back to them while weighing out some of the gems he was buying and tallying up the sums. Ceirin turned and mouthed ‘trouble’, eyes questioning.

Teldryn could only shrug. 

As soon as Ceirin got his slip of paper signed for the amount he was owed, they left and headed to the Inn.

“Was that who you’ve been avoiding?” Ceirin asked, as he hunched deeper into the collar of his coat to fend off the flurries coming down. He set a fast pace toward the main square.

“How did you..?” Teldryn scowled and shook his head, “Never mind. Yeah, that was one.”

“You’ve been on edge and keeping your face hidden since we got off the boat. Thief, remember? I know when someone’s looking to avoid being noticed.” He explained. “Should we be expecting problems?” 

“I don’t think so. I just…was hoping not to run into him.” Teldryn felt the back of his neck heat as he struggled with whether or not he should tell Ceirin why, but by then they were part of a larger crowd heading up the steps to the Inn door, so he let it go. The encounter had done nothing to improve his mood.

The spellsword went to huddle near the fire while Ceirin picked up their drink order. He watched as an altmer woman, taller even than Ceirin, recognized him. A light touch on his shoulder, bright smile, she was conversing with him. The spellsword watched as Ceirin headed back to where he was waiting. The woman followed just as far as her own table.

“I'll see you again soon, I hope." 

Teldryn was just close enough to overhear her. Ceirin told her flat out they were leaving in the morning. He wasn’t rude about it, but behind his back, her face fell for just a moment before she went back to talking and laughing with her friends. He approached and nodded towards the stairs, indicating the upper level. Teldryn took his drink and fell in step.

“So who’s your friend?” 

They took a table near the fire on the second floor. The stifling heat from the fire felt welcome after being out in the cold for most of the day. Hoods and scarves were removed, cloaks were thrown over the backs of chairs to dry. 

“She’s not a friend. I met her through my _other job_.”

Teldryn had to stop himself from doing a double take. “She’s …” He snapped his mouth shut, aware of the public surroundings. _Thieves Guild._

“Not one of mine. She has her own thing going. Did you think I was the only one with a day job?” Ceirin leaned forward and curled his fingers around his steaming mug of tea. A popular cold weather blend of lavender, mint, and rose hips, by the aroma. 

Outside, snow was coming down harder. 

Teldryn noticed that the older couple seated at the table next to them was eavesdropping, scandalized, on their conversation. The same couple had given them a scathing look of disapproval when they had caught sight of his bristly strip of hair and tattoos and Ceirin’s shaggy overgrown hair and earrings. Or maybe it was the shape of their ears. Nobles or some such. He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud as he realized what their conversation must sound like. He caught Ceirin’s eye and tilted his head a little in their direction. The altmer’ eyes narrowed for a moment. He had noticed, too.

The waitress came up with their plates. Boiled venison with cabbage, carrots, and potatoes. After the hangover and the terrible crossing, Teldryn hadn’t thought he’d want to eat so soon, but his mouth started watering as the plate was set down. 

“So how many do you require?” Ceirin asked after she had gone away.

 _What? Oh, no. He wasn’t doing this…._ Teldryn felt a jolt of adrenaline drop into his stomach. _They were going to get kicked out._

“Because I had three quit after the last time.” Ceirin continued as he ate, calm, as if this was a normal discussion. “I’ll have to raise your usual fee.” Only that gleam in his eyes gave away the joke.

At the next table, the woman made an indignant noise. Her husband glowered at them.

Teldryn took a swig of his own drink, wishing he’d ordered something stronger.

“You’ll be compensated.” He could play this game, too.

A choking sound came from the next table.

The conversation devolved from there. The older couple rushed to finish their meal and left in a huff. Ceirin watched them head down the stairs and then out the door. He leaned back in his chair, laughing.

“You, sera, are a horrible person.” Teldryn gestured with his fork at the altmer for emphasis, shaking his head in amusement, before going back to his meal. If nothing else, the juvenile behavior had lifted his mood some.

“I’m horrible?” Ceirin tipped back in his chair with a practiced innocent expression and spread his arms out to take in the space.

They had the whole second floor to themselves now.


	2. Chapter 2

“Why did you choose this place anyway?” Teldryn grumbled as they got settled in for the night and relaxed over a game of cards. 

It wasn’t yet fully dark, but after the long day combined the early start they meant to get, turning in as soon after dinner as possible was in their best interest.

“Tactics. It’s closer to the gate.” One tawny eyebrow quirked up to suggest that this question should have answered itself. 

“I’m the one who hates it here. Why are you looking to leave in a hurry?”

“It never hurts to be prepared. Speaking of which, who was your friend from before?” The altmer continued.

“Not my friend.” Teldryn sneered, baring his teeth. He threw down his last card and waited.

The Inn keeper had claimed to only have one room left. It might have been retaliation for complaints left by the elderly couple they’d run off during dinner, but without proof, they’d chosen not to make a scene about it. They had spread their bedrolls out on the floor rather than deal with the single narrow cot stuffed with musty straw and jammed into the drafty alcove under the window. 

The deck of cards was spread on the floor between them in the light of a large lantern. Ceirin was in the process of teaching him a new game. All in all, it was a cozy way to spend the end of a cold day. Or it would have been, if the Dunmer had been in a better mood to appreciate it.

“You don’t have to tell me. I was just curious. I’ve never seen you avoid someone before.” Ceirin turned over a final card. He stuck his tongue out at his losing hand.

“… We used to be involved.” Teldryn scratched along the edge of his hair. “It was ages ago but it didn’t end well. My last serious relationship, if you must know.”

Ceirin made a thoughtful sound as he started dividing the cards for another round. 

“What about you?” Teldryn turned the question back as he accepted the little pile of cards dealt out to him. 

He watched Ceirin’s long fingers gather the cards up and reshuffle them before dealing them out again. The firelight cast a warm glow, illuminating the tendons and the play of muscles beneath skin. The rogue was aware of it, too. His gestures were more dramatic than necessary. _Show off._

So far they were tied. Again. 

“What about me what?” Gold eyes widened at the question, brows arching up as he glanced up from his cards.

“Ex-lovers, bad breakups? Although, I guess there’s not much chance of you running into someone you know all the way out here.” 

“No.” Ceirin frowned and fussed with his cards a bit before setting down his first three. 

Teldryn couldn’t tell if that had been an answer or an agreement with his comment. 

Dropping the subject, he checked his cards and then put down three. They each flipped their cards over. Ceirin had one card better but his other two were worse. The spellsword collected those and they both reset their hands. If the way Ceirin was looking at the rest of his cards was any indication, his hand was disappointing him. 

“What’s the plan for tomorrow then?” If he kept the altmer distracted, maybe he could win this round too. Although he couldn’t shake the suspicion that Ceirin was just making this all up as he went.

“Well, two days or so on the road will get us there. We can see about horses in the morning. We spend some time in Riften relaxing, I check in with the Guild, and then we can maybe see about some Dwemer ruins I have been wanting to explore. The Jarl posts some work, too. The payout’s not as good as treasure hunting, but it is steady.”

The spellsword nodded along as he listened. Dwemer ruins sounded interesting. There were a few of them on Solstheim, but he’d only ever skirted the above ground structures; cleaning out Reavers on a freelance project for the Redoran Guard. Back when they’d still had the money to hire out for jobs like that. He’d always been curious about what lay below the surface. 

The disappearance of the Dwemer was one of the greatest unsolved mysteries of the age. They sparked talk of ghost stories, curses, and untold wealth left behind. He remembered on tale in particular, a favorite among treasure seekers and adventurers with any real skill or ambition. 

“Hey, have you ever heard of the ‘Eyes of the Falmer’?” Teldryn asked. “They’re said to be enormous gems worth more than a fortune apiece. History has it they’re somewhere in Skyrim. If we’re going into Dwemer ruins, maybe… we could look for those?”

Ceirin let out a choking sound. The altmer stared at him and then began shaking with laughter. 

“….The…Eyes? You want to..to… go ..after.. the Eyes..?” The altmer was gasping to catch his breath. His eyes were watering.

“No need to wet your pants about it. It was just an idea.” Teldryn slammed his cards down, at a loss as to what had merited this fit of hysteria. 

“That is brilliant.” Ceirin took a deep breath and sighed, wiping his eyes. “Perhaps when we get to Riften, I can show you my paperweight collection.” He lapsed back into helpless giggles. 

“Please tell me you haven’t made any deals with Sheogorath while I wasn’t looking?” The spellsword waited for an answer that made sense. _What on Nirn did paperweights have to …paperweights…He couldn’t mean…No._

Up and out of his bedroll, Teldryn paced around the room. He scrubbed his hands up over his face and then into his hair until he trusted himself to say something coherent.

“You…” 

He swallowed, pointing an accusing finger at the figure still giggling on the floor. 

“ _You_ have the Eyes?! They’re real….and you have them?”

Ceirin raised his head up from his arms, face flushed and eyes bright. He kept his lips pressed tightly to keep from laughing again and nodded. 

Cards forgotten, Teldryn dropped back down onto his bedding and leaned in. 

“How? Tell me.”

“Alright” Ceirin sobered. He resettled himself and took a moment to consider, rubbing a hand absently across his chest. “So a few years ago, I, along with two others, tracked someone to this massive Dwemer ruin…not too far from here, actually…”


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you sure we’ll need them? The trip isn’t that much longer on foot.” 

“Teldryn, you complained the _entire time_ we were traveling around Solstheim. _All this walking… I wish there was a silt strider about!_ ” Ceirin struck a pose with one hand shading his eyes and the other hand on his sword pommel in a ridiculous caricature of a certain dunmer adventurer.

“…I do not sound like that!” Teldryn glared up at the altmer out of the corner of his eye. “And yes, because a silt strider is a comfortable way to travel. Horses, on the other hand, are terribly _un_ comfortable.” 

The horse he was leading down to the muddy track of road snorted, as if it understood.

“You never learned how to ride?”

“You did?” Teldryn countered in surprise. There weren’t many horses in Blacklight. He had just assumed the same would be true where Ceirin had grown up. They seemed common enough in human lands, however. He had learned to ride while on jobs in Skyrim over the years, but had never been good at it. He wasn’t looking forward to trying it again.

“Well, yes. My parents insisted both my brother and I have lessons.”

“You have a brother?” Teldryn’s apprehension was set aside for the moment in favor of this new puzzle piece. “Older or younger?”

“Elsirion is younger. He was off at boarding school when I left.” The altmer’s tone was guarded. After a pause he asked, “Do you have any siblings?”

“No. I thought the attitude gave it away?” The spellsword could see he’d put his friend into a pensive mood. The teasing had stopped and the altmer’s eyes were focused on the horizon. He tried to laugh but it felt forced. “You don’t get along with your family, I take it?”

“No. We differ on several key political and social views. ” Ceirin sighed. “Your parents, then?”   
“No. Both my parents are dead.”

“Ah. I’m sorry.” 

An awkward moment passed before Ceirin continued.

“In any case, I can give you a few pointers about riding if you’d like?”

As Teldryn watched, Ceirin stuck his foot into the stirrup and swung his leg over to settle into the saddle. It looked effortless. His posture was excellent; back straight, a relaxed grip on the reins. If he’d been wearing better clothing, he would have been the picture of a young noble out for a day of leisure. 

As it was, his long travel stained coat, scarf around his face, and hood spoiled the impression and all but screamed bandit. It was a wonder the guards hadn’t followed them to the gate to make certain they left.

The altmer guided his mount with minimal effort before turning back to explain. The spellsword tried his best to duplicate the movements according to instruction. The advice helped some. His horse seemed to be cooperating as well.

“I’d still prefer a silt strider.” Teldryn grumbled under his breath. 

Whether or not Ceirin overheard him, the altmer chose that moment to urge his horse into a canter. 

Eyeing the dark clouds building on the horizon, the spellsword prodded his own horse to pick up its pace. 

They headed south, racing the gathering storm.


	4. Chapter 4

A sopping tent. Damp bedrolls. Wood too wet to burn even with the aid of magic. And clammy chafing clothes. Teldryn surveyed the aftermath of the storms as they packed up their camp over a cold breakfast. He had his first solid reasons to miss his room at the Netch. The spellsword hoped they wouldn’t experience any further delays. If they didn’t get their stuff dried out soon, it would start to mildew. Bad enough that it stunk of wet horse.

He was almost grateful when after a few hours out on the road, the ambush happened.

It gave him something to take his irritation out on. 

The bandits had set up on either side of the road, taking full advantage of a tree that had come down in the storm. Hoping for a poorly guarded carriage or a lone courier, they didn’t know what to make of a tall rogue with two blades and the insult -screaming mercenary mage that they had netted. By the time they realized their mistake, three of their number were dead and the rest chose to run.

The two mer chased the stragglers to a crumbling relic of a guard tower set back up off the road. 

Teldryn tore after his bandit up an outer ramp while Ceirin headed around to the front to cut them off. The bandits were disorganized and poorly outfitted. Even as a group they were no match for two professional adventurers. As the spellsword caught his target on the stairs with a firebolt spell and cut his way through two more that had been hiding inside, he heard a loud noise followed by Ceirin cursing in what he realized had to be Altmeri. Rushing down the stairs, he hit the ground floor running, but Ceirin was nowhere in sight. He found the door barred. Throwing the beam over and pulling the door open, he came face to face with his friend.

“What happened to you?” 

“I tried to kick the door in.” Ceirin was braced against the door frame and looking murderous. A dead bandit lay not far away.

“By Azura, tell me you didn’t break it?” Teldryn eyed the foot Ceirin was keeping up off the ground. 

“It isn’t broken!” The altmer tried a few steps, using only the toes on the injured foot, mouth pressed into a thin stubborn line against what was obviously painful. “I just…can’t put any weight on it.”

The spellsword sighed. So much for making up for lost time on their journey today. 

With Ceirin’s arm around his shoulders for balance, they managed a hopping shuffle back the way they had come, following the bodies and stopping every so often so Ceirin could retrieve arrows. They made their way back to the horses, and the packs containing healing supplies, at a pace a tortoise would have found laughable. 

By early evening, they were heading downhill, following the road winding into the valley. Lake Honrich sparkled beyond the tree line, dappled with cats’ paws in the soft breezes. Wildflowers were blooming after the rains. There was a sweet musky scent of woodland and growing things. The shade beneath the trees was cooler and offered shelter for the first mosquitos of the season. 

They picked up the pace, Ceirin eager to be home now that it was so close. 

They could smell the city before they could see it. The woodland scent failed as the breeze brought in the murky odor of lake water; algae, fish, and mud, along with the occasional whiff of wood smoke or sewage. The woods thinned out to an open field that rose upward, buzzing with insects, to end at the high stone walls of the city. They walked single file down the rutted muddy track that led around the wall to the stables. After returning their rented mounts to the stable master they passed through the low dark arch of the main gate. 

Once inside the walls, the noise of people and the occasional barking dog drowned out all but the loudest birdsongs. Humans and a few elves went about their business, not even sparing a glance for the new arrivals. 

"So this is Riften. Glover Mallory told me a good deal about the place. It looks exactly as I'd pictured." Teldryn drawled, sarcasm making his accent stronger. 

He had, after all, _asked_ to travel here. But he wasn’t about to pretend he was impressed. 

Ramshackle weather- faded cabins leaned over one another as they crowded down to the water’s edge. The narrow dark alleyways in between were clogged with trash. Teldryn spotted skeevers skulking in the shadows.   
Gulls perched along the roof peaks; their shit streaked white down the shingles. Boats and nets were pulled up or hung outside nearly every home within walking distance of the shore. Everything reeked of smoked fish. 

The homes of the financially better off residents were pushed back up against the outer wall, as if attempting to get away from the smell. Walkways of crumbled brick gave way to filth- slicked wooden planks laid down right over the muck. Weeds and the occasional escapee from someone’s garden grew up in between all of it. 

At some point in its history the Empire had come through and built a wall around the place and then, considering their territory marked, had left again. The disruption of trade during the civil war and the predations of the Thieves Guild had only added to the run down state.

Grimacing, Teldryn waved away a fly that dared to land in his hair.

It wasn’t a city at all. 

“It doesn’t look like much, I know.” Ceirin shrugged in apology. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

He headed off, still limping a bit, pack hoisted over his shoulder and Teldryn was forced to put aside his dismayed gawking in order to keep from getting left at the gate. 

They headed first to a central open air market; a circular setup where merchants pulled up crates and carts to sell their wares. It was crowded and he had to step quickly to keep from bumping into people. He kept one hand near his coin purse, much to Ceirin’s amusement.

As they shopped for something to eat for dinner, the altmer gave him a quick rundown on where to get the best things. He pointed out the blacksmiths, the apothecary, and a pawnshop. 

Teldryn saw him exchange nods with a great bruiser of a dark haired Nord lounging near an alley while they moved about the market. That man disappeared shortly after. Something for his other job, he thought, scowling. 

People in general seemed to know Ceirin; there were several greetings of the ‘welcome back’ sort from the vendors and locals alike. 

Purchases wrapped and tucked under his arm, they continued to the large two story inn to pick up Ceirin’s house keys from the Argonian behind the counter. He then led Teldryn back across a canal full of stagnant water, fallen leaves, and trash. The crowd thinned out as the two mer moved away from the market until they were walking alone. They passed by a low establishment with small dingy windows. The woman sweeping the walk sneered at them as they passed. 

“That’s just Haelga. Don’t worry, it’s not you. It’s me she hates.” Ceirin stopped to dig out his keys.

The building in front of them was also low but windowless. A squat chimney dominated the length of the wall. Someone’s weak attempt at a lawn had lost its struggle to the mud between the foundation and the walkway. 

Further down, Teldryn could see a small profusion of garden space was tucked back where he couldn’t get a good look at it. Several chickens strutted about, pecking at bugs amongst the plants. When they spotted Ceirin, they scrambled over, clucking. Laughing, the altmer gently shooed them away from the door with his foot. When food was not forthcoming, they lost all interest, and went back to hunting bugs.

When he got the door open, stale air billowed out. He turned and gave Teldryn a tired smile. 

“Well, this is home. If you could get the fire started, we can see about getting dinner going and airing this place out a bit.” 

Teldryn stepped into the dark interior and got his first look at Ceirin’s home. 

A table and chairs sat against one wall. A cupboard and several shelves held the dishes and crockery. There was a fireplace and a large tripod for the cooking kettle. Ceirin cracked open a small window above the table.

The altmer had dumped his pack on a long low table at the foot of a large bed. Teldryn set his things down. Some thoughtful individual, he supposed it to be whoever had been minding the house and feeding the chickens, had cleaned out the grate and left kindling and logs set up. One spell and he had a cheery blaze crackling. 

He followed the taller mer further into the building. After a few mechanical noises of locks and shudders being thrown open, a window and another door were revealed. 

The place was larger on the inside than what had been visible from the street. It overlooked a narrow strip of beach and had decking set out over the water. Dappled sunlight and lake scented breeze rushed in through the open window and doors, clearing away the closed- up smell. Ceirin showed him to the stairs and through the lower level, past an alchemy workstation with its rows of clear glass bottles and racks of dried plants, to a spare bedroom that was to be his. Teldryn dropped his pack on the bed and looked around more on his way back up. 

Besides Ceirin’s wardrobe, armor and weapons, there were several sturdy bookcases filled with oddities. Books, maps, framed plant illustrations complete with labels, all of it interspersed with artifacts or bits and pieces he’d found, filled the rest of the space. 

A glazed Dwemer vase with delicate filigree feet that would have fetched a nice price instead propped up a series of cheap travel guides. Whole shelves filled with tomes of mystery, fiction, mythology, history, and magical theory were also full of feathers, smooth stones and worn bits of glass or pottery he’d found walking along the shore. 

The place was eclectic but it had an unapologetic and comfortable lived-in quality to it that the spellsword liked.

They set to the task of unpacking. Their still -damp camping gear was spread out over the deck railings to dry. Once they were more or less settled in, they had a swim, and then roasted the fresh salmon and vegetables Ceirin had bought for their supper. 

Sitting out on the deck, barefoot, drinking cold ale in the warmth of the sun and enjoying a real meal after days on the road, Teldryn relaxed, stiff muscles unwinding for the first time since he’d stepped onto the docks back in Windhelm. 

They watched the last fishing boats head in, racing the sunset as it stained the lake in a blaze of crimson and purple until it sank down behind looming thunderheads. Fireflies came out and the moons peeked up from behind the trees. The temperature dropped, mist rolling in from the fields to drift around the water’s edge. Lightning began to flicker and the low roll of distant thunder sounded. They headed back indoors, seeking the warmth of the fire and comfortable beds. Given his less than spectacular first impression of Riften, Teldryn was heartened to find that it could also be beautiful.

His last thought as he drifted to sleep was that he could get used to this place.


	5. Chapter 5

Torches hissed and flickered in the damp, illuminating water- stained limestone block walls and throwing deep shadows into grotesque configurations. The sound of heavy boots took on a hollow echo as they marched over wooden planks that had warped with moisture and were worn down the center with age and use. The cool still air was heavy with the stale odors of sweat, ale, and smokable substances; not all of them legal. 

Eyes lifted from hands of cards or plates of food long enough to register the latest arrival before gliding away again to look anywhere else.

Rounding the corner into the main part of the underground tavern, Maul rapped his knuckles against the wooden support beam to ‘knock’ as he approached the table where Brynjolf, Vex, and Tonilia were huddled in close discussion over a mess of papers, coins, and plates of leftover food. 

“Something amiss?” The Guild’s red haired second in command glanced up, concerned.

“Guild Master’s back. He came by the market earlier. I would’ve told you sooner but Maven’s gotten strict about my schedule of late.” The big nord shrugged. “Had someone with him, too.”

“Who?” 

“Don’t know. Some dunmer. Looked like the mercenary type.” 

“Thanks, Maul.” Brynjolf counted out a handful of coins and handed them over to the larger man. Maul inclined his head in acknowledgement. Then he headed back up to the streets for the night, nodding to Dirge before he left.

“You don’t think he’s jumped ship on us, do you?” The pale imperial woman voiced her concern to her colleagues. 

Brynjolf shook his head.

“Ceirin wouldn’t do that. The lad isn’t like Mercer, to abandon us.” His worried frown lessened the conviction of his words.

The two women exchanged a look. Vex snorted and shook her head before looking away again.

“I think it’s time someone talked to him, Bryn.” Tonilia said. “He’s never here anymore. And he hasn’t brought in anything to fence in ages. Wherever he’s buying and selling these days, it’s not through me.”

The resident fence stood and brushed crumbs off her lap, then shuffled up her share of the paperwork. 

“The Guild’s grown so much this last year. We’re too busy now to get by without him around at least some of the time.” She added before turning to leave.

Vex nodded her agreement.

“I can’t recall the last time he took a job from me. And Delvin hasn’t given him anything either.”

“Very well, I’ll talk to him.” 

“Soon.”


	6. Chapter 6

“You… _what do you mean you told him?!_ ” Brynjolf ran his hands back into his hair as he paced the small side room that passed for ‘private’ in the guild’s quarters beneath the city. His voice had risen well above what the wooden door would have blocked. Gossip mongering ears were likely trained in this direction now. When he’d called Ceirin in to talk he’d been hoping to avoid a scene.

“I told him. He was going to figure it out, anyway.” Ceirin shrugged, arms folded over his chest, and kept wary eyes on the red haired Nord who was both his second and his mentor.

“What were you thinking, lad? You do realize what we do is illegal?” Bryn stopped his pacing and turned back to face his former protégé. If Ceirin had meant to recruit the fellow, that would have been one thing. The Guild was an open sort of secret in Riften. People came to the city looking to make contact. Members didn’t go out into the world telling everyone they met. Braggarts landed in prison or worse. “What’s to keep him from turning us all in?”

Ceirin stared at the floor for a moment, taking time to think before speaking. 

“Why did you recruit me?” 

“What?” The question took Brynjolf by surprise. 

“That day in the market. I was just passing by. You approached me. Something about me that day told you it was worth the risk, knowing nothing about me. What was that?” The altmer’s voice was soft.

The red haired Nord sighed, letting his temper out from between his teeth with the breath, and thought on it for a bit.

“I can read people. Little details. I know who will respond to a bribe, or a threat, and who to leave alone. And who to invite.”

Brynjolf thought back to that day, eyes unfocused as he sorted out the memory.

“That day, you walked into the market, and you cased it. You marked where the guards were, where the exits were. You may not have acted on it, but you knew. And I knew, right then, that you belonged with us.”

“I could have been a murderer escaped from prison.” Ceirin argued, waiting.

“No.” Brynjolf was shaking his head, adamant.

“How…”

“I can just tell. It’s hard to explain, but I _knew_ you weren’t.”

“Instinct?” 

“Aye. If you want to call it that.”

“Was it that same instinct that made you put me forward as Guild Master?”

“Yes. No.” Brynjolf shook his head. “It was more, by then. I knew what you were capable of. You got along with everyone, at least well enough to work with. We trusted you.”

“Past tense.” Ceirin met the other thief’s eyes.

“Lad, I still trust you. With my life. You _know_ that. But some of the others… you’re not around. They wonder why you hired out when any of them would have jumped at the chance to go with you. They wonder if you’re putting something else together. If you’re leaving.”

Ceirin sighed and shook his head. 

“I’m back for a bit now. I’ll try and spend more time around here. But I need you to understand that my instinct told me that I can trust Teldryn with my life. And all of yours.”

“Duly noted.” Brynjolf gave an unhappy nod and then asked, “Why didn’t you take one of ours with you?”

“I didn’t think it would be…what it was.” Ceirin admitted. “I just thought to keep it separate.”

Brynjolf was about to ask _separate from what_ when Vekel knocked on the door with a message for Brynjolf; Maven was looking to speak to him. _Now_ was always implied when dealing with Maven Blackbriar and becoming Jarl hadn’t softened her manner any. 

The two thieves left off their conversation and headed back out to the main room so Bryn could grab his coat on the way up. By the time he returned to the cistern after having seen to the business that Jarl Blackbriar wanted, the question had passed from his mind. 

He was pleased to see that Ceirin was still there, working on some locks with Sapphire and Thrynn, late into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

While relaxing had its merits, neither mer could stay inactive for long. So it was that one sunny morning found them discussing plans for a bigger expedition over the remains of breakfast.

Ceirin hadn’t been exaggerating about all the ruins. Skyrim had a lot of them. Teldryn was engrossed in a map on which several, remaining from the first era, were marked. There was a stack of history books set on the table next to his plate. He flipped to a page in one of the texts and read aloud. 

_“Said to be one of the largest and most prosperous Dwemer cities in Skyrim, explorers have been unable to verify the condition of the site, as it is overrun with Falmer.”_

“Which one is that again?” Ceirin looked up from a hot cup of coffee and the last bites of his own meal. 

“Raldbthar. There’s a whole chapter here. _Speculations on Dwemer Economy and the Deep Markets of the North._ ” He held up the book for Ceirin to see.

“Have you encountered Falmer before?” Teldryn raised the map up and pushed the books to the side to reach his own mug. “You know I’m not opposed to fighting our way in. Whatever foul beings infest the place, I’m sure we’ll find plenty of wealth to make it worth our time.”

“I have. They may be blind, vicious, and demented, but they were mer once. And they have the skill that comes of that.”

Teldryn felt a prickle of disgust crawl its way up his spine, unsettling as the imagined feel of a spider walking up his back. He shifted and returned his attention to his coffee. 

“I’m not saying we can’t manage it.” Ceirin amended. “I’m just saying we need to go in aware. Besides, that’s almost all the way back to Windhelm. There are some closer. With one of those, we could clear it and be back in a couple of days, maybe a week at most. We can save Raldbthar for another time.”

“Are you in a rush or something?” 

The altmer leaned back in his chair as he blew out a long sigh that lifted the sandy hair away from his eyes.

“Ah, Brynjolf’s pissy because I’ve been gone so often and the rest aren’t much better. The whole point in my becoming guild master was so he wouldn’t have to. Now he’s doing it anyway and I’m not even around to help. If I leave again so soon, it needs to be for less time and more profit.” 

“And they still don’t know about you being the great hero? What do you tell them when you go off to fight dragons?”

“I know. I need to tell them. I just…. I will.” Ceirin shook his head. He reached over and pulled the map from Teldryn’s grasp to point to a spot midway between Riften and Windhelm, up into the Velothi Mountains, close to the border with Morrowind. 

“Now, there’s a ruin up this way I’d like to look into. It’s smaller and it might turn out to be nothing. But more than that, there’s a cave nearby that might have something you’d want to help me go after. Two birds, one stone, as they say. Do you know the story about the crown of Barenziah?”

Now that got the Dunmer’s attention. Red eyes narrowed in interest and coffee was pushed aside like the plate before that. 

“The actual….You know where to find that?”

“Vex knows her stuff. If she thinks this is worth checking, then I agree.”

“So why hasn’t she gone after it? Or anyone else?”

“Thieves tend to work alone. It maximizes independence, but it limits the scope of jobs we can take. Adventurers usually work in small groups to maximize their percentage of the overall take. Whatever is in this cave, it’s proved too much for one person or even a small team.”

“And we are better than a small team.” Teldryn grinned and reached for the texts again. 

“It would certainly put the Guild at ease. It’s been on their watch list for a long while.”

The two mer spent the rest of the morning pouring over the map, checking their texts, and writing up lists of things they might need. Teldryn felt the familiar rush of excitement now that plans were underway. Profitable plans, if the crown turned out to be there. Plus whatever else they could carry out of the ruins. There was bound to be something.

The spellsword rubbed his hands together in anticipation of what they might find.

Surely the Guild would forgive Ceirin a bit more absenteeism if he added to their coffers upon their return? From his own share, of course. 

Teldryn would never have imagined that he would have so much in common with people he had once considered petty criminals well beneath him. He might never take the coins straight from someone’s pockets or anything out of a house. But looking to acquire as much wealth as possible without the drudgery of a regular job? That was an ideal he could get behind.

And if their names ended up in a history book someday as the first explorers to chart some ancient ruin or make a famous discovery, so much the better. He wondered what it would be like to be famous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol. Just ignore me while I make up lore and culture stuff... I just figure that with all the info the player can learn about the history there would be more books available in-world. Also, coffee because if they can have tomatoes, then probably Elswyr or Hammerfell or someplace could grow it and export it. And because as my name suggests....I love coffee and am incapable of imagining places where it doesn't exist.  
> Thanks for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

It would take some time to get together all the things that they would need for their trip. Merchants had schedules to keep, too. There was only so much that could be done ‘first thing’. So they were left waiting.

In the meantime, Ceirin knew it would put him in better graces to go to his ‘other job’ more often. The rogue never said much to Teldryn about it. And he never brought home whatever he’d taken. His first stop was always to the fence the guild kept on retainer. He brought his share home in coins, not stolen goods. 

Teldryn knew that Ceirin was keeping that distance to create a sort of buffer zone for him. And yet…he couldn’t help feel a bit left out. 

Whatever the altmer’s current assignment was, it had taken him out of town. 

Although it was nice to have the house to himself, Teldryn still worried while Ceirin was gone and found it difficult to get to sleep without the familiar sound of footsteps across the floorboards overhead. He didn’t know who the altmer was working with; if they would have his back or be as capable in a pinch. He assumed someone from the Guild would tell him if Ceirin landed himself in prison. 

Maybe.

The second night Ceirin was gone, he hauled the tub out and filled it. One of the greater luxuries that the altmer owned; it was copper and big enough to lounge in. A stiff drink and a long soak would go a long way towards relaxing at the end of the day.

He was into his second glass of whiskey and lathering away the grime when he heard the door shut overhead. 

Odd… _Ceirin wasn’t due back until day after next_. He was also certain he’d locked it. He set the glass down and listened. 

The footsteps were wrong…

Taking a quick dunk under the water to rinse most of the suds off, he stepped out and grabbed his pants and the sword he’d left out after he’d cleaned it. Dripping, half naked, and armed, he stormed upstairs.

To say the two intruders were startled by his appearance would be an understatement. 

The young Nord in Thieves Guild armor jumped and drew a dagger; a pitiful defense against an ebony sword. The girl he’d brought along shrieked and hid behind him. Neither knew what to make of the angry, sopping wet mer who’d emerged from the basement to threaten them.

After a tense stand -off, Teldryn was able to get it out of them that they had believed the house to be empty. 

Ceirin was apparently in the habit of letting his fellow guild members use his place when he was only gone for a short time. In search of some privacy, they had assumed he wouldn’t mind if they helped themselves. To his bed. They didn’t know he’d gotten a roommate. They were terribly sorry for the misunderstanding. 

Teldryn made it clear he was of an entirely different mindset and that they were no longer welcome. Despite their apologies, he kept them at sword point until they were back outside and the door was once again shut and locked.

By the time all was said and done and he got back to his bath, the water was tepid. Scowling, he set to reheating it while he tossed back the rest of his drink. 

He was going to have a talk with Ceirin about setting some better boundaries for his people.


	9. Chapter 9

“Has he picked up his orders yet?” A smooth voice spoke at Maul’s shoulder. The big Nord fought the urge to jump; shifting against the post he’d been leaning on to make the motion look casual. Brynjolf’s ego would never let him forget it if the thief had managed to startle him. After all the years Maul had worked for Maven Blackbriar, he should be used to it.

“Just stopped at the butcher and the blacksmiths earlier. If he heads to the Inn, we’ll know.” 

“Keep me posted.” The red haired thief nodded and stepped around Maul, heading towards his stall. 

It was as good a place as any to hear the news. Rumors like whether or not their guildmaster was planning another little trip. Brynjolf set up his wares; counterfeit of course, and began his usual hawking routine all on muscle memory. He kept his peripheral vision trained on the tall figure heading around the sides of the market. Until Ceirin headed back past him and out of his line of sight. 

Glancing up he made eye contact with Maul across the plaza. A moment later he got a nod in answer.

Ceirin had gone into the Inn. He had a standing arrangement with the owners to housesit for him whenever he was away for more than a few days. It was too early to be ordering lunch. Brynjolf felt his shoulders sag. He had hoped, once again, that he was wrong. If Ceirin was leaving again… 

The idea to replace the altmer was circulating. He could hear it in the hushed voices that stopped when he was in earshot, in those early hours before dawn when the work load seemed heaviest. Bryn had spoken against it. He still believed that Ceirin was the right choice. The only choice. But Ceirin was young, as altmer reckoned it, and he was restless. 

Not all of the guild could see past the wanderlust the way Brynjolf could. They couldn’t see the potential. That rock solid core of strength. They hadn’t seen him stare down Mercer in those final moments, the ground rocking beneath them as water poured through…

And after the mess Mercer had left them, they hadn’t been given enough reason to trust him. If Ceirin didn’t start taking his position seriously…

Brynjolf wasn’t sure how long he would be able to defend the younger thief before having to give in to the will of the rest of the Guild. Lest _his_ name be the one muttered in discontent and mutiny.  
Sighing, he rubbed at the back of his neck, at the tension headache already starting to form. He would have to talk to Ceirin before he left. 

Again.


	10. Chapter 10

“It’s only for a week this time, I promise.” 

“Lad, that’s what you said the last time. You were gone nearly a month! And the time before that. And the one before that. You say one thing and do something else. It’s not reliable.” Brynjolf shook his head.

“We’re not even going as far as Windhelm. There’s that old Dwemer place into the foothills with the cave below it…”

“I know it. There’s naught out there but animals, bandits, or bones. If you need coin, take some jobs from Delvin or Vex. Work’s overflowing. Show them you mean to stay.” 

He finished the last quietly. If the slouch to the altmer’s shoulders and the way his brows pulled in over his nose was any indication, the message had hit home. Brynjolf wasn’t above using guilt to get results but this was different. It left a bad taste in his mouth. He shouldn’t have to turn the tactics he used on marks onto his own people.

“Vex thinks the Crown of Barenziah is out there. A good lead, anyway.” Ceirin leaned in and lowered his voice. “So, technically, I am doing a job for her.”

_The crown of…._ Brynjolf raised his head to frown askance at the young altmer while he ran a quick mental tally of the value, the odds, and time involved to get out there and back…Ceirin was his most capable thief and one of only two or three he would have ever considered for a job like this.

This was far too favorable to pass up.

“Mercer never found it. If we could get it, doesn’t that give some huge boost to moral or reputation or something? Not to mention a ransom… We could spark a bidding war between Dunmer noble houses!” 

The older thief held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t go counting your coins until they’re in your hand, lad.” Brynjolf sighed. “If anyone asks…I’ll tell them you’re on a job for Vex.” 

“Alright. We’re leaving first thing in the morning. And Bryn? Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Just get that thing, if it’s there, and get back quick.”

Ceirin headed out, his step lighter. 

Brynjolf stayed and stared into his mead, wondering how long he would be able to sell this to the others if it turned out to be another of Ceirin’s disappearing acts.


	11. Chapter 11

The dwemer ruins Ceirin had been so keen to explore turned out to be several small towers with steep staircases that led to locked doors Ceirin couldn’t pick or that were blocked by debris. The taste of disappointment in their mouths, they wandered around the area to make sure they hadn’t missed anything, but by the look of things the grounds had already been scavenged clean. They gave up after about an hour and headed back down to check the cave. 

The history they’d researched had indicated that it had once been a route under the mountains used by Dunmer refugees before whole sections had collapsed and sealed off the pass into separate cave systems. 

They crept in, weapons at the ready. Caves were favored by animals just as often as by bandits. The signs they’d seen around the area on the way had suggested a bear. Ceirin had his bow drawn. His feet were silent as he eased forward. It was a good thing to, because the bruin sleeping in the foremost part of the cave didn’t hear them come in. 

The first arrow meant it woke up angry.

Teldryn had forgotten how huge bears could be. And how fast, given their bulk. The animal was on its feet and lunging at them before Ceirin had finished nocking the next arrow. He had to drop it in favor of his blades as the bear reared on its hind legs, towering over the two mer.

By the time it died, Teldyn’s ears were ringing from its pained roars. He’d also gotten a much more up close and personal view than he had wanted of its claws as one enormous paw had swiped within a hairs breadth of his face. 

They left the animal where it had fallen after making sure it was dead. Pity. A bear hide would have been a nice thing to have before winter. Maybe they could spare the time on the way out.

As they headed lower, they could see that the Dwemer had built down here as well. Sections of rusted pipe ran through the stone in places and there were small areas that had been deliberately sculpted or arranged by people as opposed to whatever natural forces had created the cave in the first place. 

They followed the passage deeper down into the earth. They began to notice a sour, rancid odor. It wasn’t coming from any of the fungus or debris in the area. Ceirin, scowling, motioned for caution. Rounding the corner led them straight into the first group of Falmer Teldryn had ever seen. 

In the flickering torch light they looked like shriveled bleached corpses. Except that they were very much alive. Fast, silent, and adept at magic, they were ever bit as serious as Ceirin had warned. 

Teldryn ended up in a spell battle against one of them, flames and ice and lightning flying down the narrow corridor, leaving the stink of ozone in their wake and scorch marks on the rough stone walls. His atronach evened the odds. The twisted creatures made no vocal sound, other than the wheeze and rasp of their breathing. Not even while they died. They reminded him of ash spawn. By the time it was over, he was dizzy and leaned against the wall to catch his breath while he gulped down a magicka potion. It had been awhile since he’d pushed his reserves like that.

Ceirin waited, pulling arrows out of corpses and fiddling with the straps on his pack, until the spellsword was ready to continue.

Long winding corridors, ledges, and caverns fell behind them. Falmer and cave spiders had fallen to their blades. They had gone deep enough to where the light of their torches competed with the eerie green glow of the lichens along the walls. 

They began finding remnants from the caravan. Camp fire sites; nothing more than small heaps of ash long gone cold surrounded by sad little rings of rocks, some scattered weapons, and tattered remains of fabric so rotted with age that it fell apart when touched. A wagon, canted on its side; someone had been working on one of the wheels. A chest; still locked, although not for long, once Ceirin noticed it. Skeletons were further on, where they had died trying to shelter off to one side. 

Teldryn felt oddly chilled, as though old ghosts were leaning over his shoulder running cold spectral fingers down the back of his neck. Here and there, fragments from old journals and books pieced together the tale. They packed up what they could to take back with them, to preserve the history. 

Eventually they came out at the bottom of a waterfall, crossing through the icy spray on a bridge left by some long dead Dwemer engineers. The tunnel opened into a final chamber sealed off at the back by the collapse. Their torches picked out the warm gleam of gold. There, as if it had just been set down that morning, was the crown. They stepped towards it. 

The first ghosts appeared out of the shadows to stop them.


	12. Chapter 12

It was real.

It had been a hard fight, but they had won. And now they had it. 

The Crown of Barenziah. 

Teldryn sat by the fire and held it, unable to fight the feeling that if he looked away, it would vanish. The scrapes and bruises should have made it feel real. One ghostly cut had nearly gone through his bracer. The sore muscles. The lingering fatigue he felt from running his magicka lower than usual. But somehow it still didn’t seem believable. 

Ceirin was going to take it down to the Guild’s headquarters to store it when they got back. It wouldn’t be safe at the house. But until then…he turned it over in his hands, admiring the workmanship. The weight alone was impressive. He thought of a portrait he’d seen in Blacklight, a young queen with her head held high, a piece of his country’s history right there in his hands. The firelight made it glow in the way that only high quality gold did. Not a hint of brassiness. He pictured what it would look like with all the jewels restored. _Magnificent_. 

It the best thing they had found so far. He looked over to see Ceirin grinning at him. 

“What?”

“You’ve been staring at that like you’ve never seen gold before.”

“When I am an old, decrepit mer and I’m writing my memoirs, I want to get this part right.” Teldryn shook his finger at the rogue. “Are you sure we can’t keep it?” 

Ceirin just grinned again and shook his head. He raised up his bottle of mead in a sort of salute. Teldryn grabbed his own bottle and they clinked the two together in a wordless toast.

Neither mer could quite wipe the smile off his face.


	13. Chapter 13

The hour was late when Ceirin came down the ladder into the Guild’s headquarters. Most of the resident thieves were out working. A few, either finished up already or off for the night, were still around.

Rune read while he ate. Across from him, Thrynn was sewing; repairing a seam on his jacket. A spare needle was caught between his teeth, scissors, and loose pieces of thread littered the table in front of him. 

“Hey, boss! Looks like a good haul.” Rune called, looking up from the pages of his book. “Tonilia went with Delvin up to Solitude though, so you’ll have to wait to sell it.” 

Ceirin paused before hefting the large sack he was carrying onto his desk. A hollow metallic thunk drew some looks. The sound was that of one large object, not a whole sack of items. Their curiosity was piqued.

“Checking up on that Argonian, huh?” Ceirin guessed. 

“Yeah.”

“Is Vex around?”

“At the bar talking to Vekel, last I saw.” Thrynn said without looking up from his sewing.

“Could someone get her, please? And ask Vekel for a bottle of something while you’re up there. The good stuff. ” 

That got everyone’s attention.

Rune set his book down and headed off to find her.

The back grate ground opened again and Vipir came sliding down the ladder, his feet braced along the sides. Cynric followed, jumping down to land lightly. Vipir tossed his take onto his cot, and then headed for the pot of stew sitting near the fire. Cynric took more time, unstringing his bow and setting everything away before sitting down to eat. Greetings and sparse conversation flowed around the table.   
Attention kept coming back to their guild master and the mysterious bag on his desk.

Ceirin sat, tipped back in his chair with his feet up on the desk and his hands laced behind his head, and waited. 

“What’d you get?” Vipir asked him, mumbling around a mouthful of food.

“You’ll see.” 

At the far end of the cistern, a door slammed and Rune returned with Vex, Bryn, and Vekel in tow. They came across the walkway, drinks still in hand, with Vekel carrying a dark glass bottle of something covered in a thin layer of dust, and extra glasses.

Vex stopped when she saw the bag on the desk. 

“It was there?!”

Ceirin’s smug grin widened.

“Right where you said it would be.” He sighed and began ticking off things on his fingers, “Right past the bear, the handful of rats, the dozen or so falmer, the cave spiders, and all the ghosts. No sweat.”

Vex pumped her fist in the air, her face lit with a fierce grin. Brynjolf clapped him on the shoulder and raised his drink in a silent salute to the altmer, who nodded in acknowledgement.

“Ok, do we get to know what this thing is or not?” Rune had lost his patience.

Corresponding words of agreement circulated the room.

Ceirin smacked Vekel’s hand away when he tried to peek into the bag while he was setting glasses on the desk. 

More drinks were poured and handed around and then they were made to wait with their eyes closed while Ceirin took the bag away and set the crown out on his desk.

When they were allowed to look, the reactions were well worth the set up. Cheers and shouts of awe, demands for the story, and general jubilation ensued. 

Somebody went and made a mark up on the board where Ceirin and Vex had been keeping score. They had been in a competition for ‘best infiltrator’ ever since the Golden Glow job. After some argument, they marked Vex’s side as well, since she had provided the information. Therefore, the tally remained close to a tie. 

“Now, that is a beautiful sight.” Cynric sighed, admiring the details worked into the gold.

“Too bad the jewels are missing.” Vex had leaned in for a closer look as well. 

“Funny you should mention that.” Ceirin fished into one of his coat pockets and dropped a second, smaller, bag onto the desk. 

“Has anyone got any jewelers pliers?” 

The rest of night was spent with thieves coming in and out of the cistern to share drinks, to celebrate, and to admire their new trophy. Ceirin and a few others sat around the desk and worked the gemstones carefully back into their settings.

Brynjolf sat back, drank, and observed. 

Vex had nodded to him on her way out, a quiet acknowledgement of him being right. Closest she’d get to an apology. 

Thrynn, usually taciturn, was at the desk, lending a steady hand to the repair work. He talked and laughed with the others as he did so. 

Rune was in the thick of it as well, handing tools or gems off as people asked for them, his reading forgotten.

Sapphire had returned late and fallen asleep at the table after finishing her drink. On one of his breaks, Ceirin had moved her from the bench to her cot to tuck her in. 

Vipir was still wide awake and regaling his audience with bad jokes and worse stories. At one point Thrynn reached out to smack him on the back of the head. The way an older brother might. 

There was an air of comfort, of _family_ , that the guild hadn’t had in far too long.

Watching the rest of them relax and bask in the achievement, it was easy to see how Ceirin pulled them all together. How he fit here. Belonged with them. Gallus had had that same ability to bring people together. Mercer Frey had not. He just hoped some of the others could see it now, too.

By the early hours of morning, as the horizon lightened and fishermen where rising to head out and cast their first nets of the day, the guild had their new trophy set up on a stand behind the guild masters desk, so that the winged decorations on the crown framed him while he sat there.

On his way to his own bunk, Brynjolf passed by the statue of Nocturnal that Karliah had insisted on putting up. He paused, reached out and patted the statue’s feet in a kind of unspoken prayer of thanks, before continuing on his way.

Seeing was believing, after all.


	14. Chapter 14

Once again left to his own devices, Teldryn spent time exploring the town and around the lake, or reading out on the deck. He took a job for the Jarl out of sheer boredom; clearing out a small bandit camp in the foothills. It didn’t take long and the bounty was decent. Somehow, bandits were no longer the challenge they once were. 

In the evenings he drank alone at the Inn or stayed home. He missed Ceirin. He didn’t know anyone in Riften, not like he had in Solstheim. Either he was out of practice, or it was harder to make friends here. People were more suspicious. And while he was by no means the only Dunmer in Riften, most of them were outlanders and didn’t even speak the language. He found himself homesick for the sound of words and scent of familiar foods. He hadn’t expected to spend this much time being lonely.

There were a few residents who would at least exchange greetings with him if their paths crossed, but it was nowhere near the comradery he remembered from the Netch. Although the barkeep at the Inn here mixed up some interesting drinks…not that he would ever tell Geldis that. _Unless…maybe he could get Ceirin to steal the recipes?…No_.

Solstheim hadn’t been great, but it had been familiar. He’d had some things in common with most of the folks who lived there by virtue of a shared heritage and culture. He thought of Blacklight again; how long it had been since he’d last seen his old home. Although, he didn’t miss the ash storms; even bad weather in Riften was breathable.

After picking up his pay from the steward, he browsed the market before heading home. Stopping to consider some produce at a farm stand while he tried to decide if he really felt like cooking, he was jolted out of it by the proprietor’s attitude. Being accused of thievery wasn’t something he was accustomed to. 

With further discussion and his pointedly _paying_ for a basket of vegetables he didn’t really need, the farmers confided to him that they had been robbed of a family heirloom in the last few days. It was just a bow, but it was the only thing they had left and so forth and so on. 

Teldryn carried the basket home with an energy borne of anger. Who robbed poor farmers? Wealthy merchants and nobles, he could understand. They could spare the loss. Ceirin wasn’t the sort to do such a thing but his people must’ve had a hand in this. He aimed to have a word with the altmer when he got back. 

No wonder everyone here was so cold to everyone else.

It wasn’t until he got home and went to put the vegetables away and get changed out of his armor that he realized the coin purse he’d been paid was missing…

_Oh, he was definitely going to have words with that rogue._

That evening, his mood hadn’t lifted. He was drinking alone at the bar, chewing on the idea that right at that very moment, Ceirin was probably doing something exciting and worthy of his skill. And here he was, just killing time.

He was startled out of his thoughts by the bartender, Keerava, setting another drink in front of him. He hadn’t asked for one.

“Courtesy of an admirer.” Her gravelly voice sent a shiver down his neck.

He looked across the bar to see one of the locals, a bosmer named Valinor or Valdinor or something, smiling shyly at him. 

Well, there were many ways to kill time. Some were more pleasant than others.

He picked up the drink and headed for the empty seat next to the other mer.


	15. Chapter 15

Teldryn left Valindor’s bed before the wood elf had awakened, slinking across town in the predawn quiet, only to slip through the door and run face to face with the rogue, who was already home.

Ceirin, who had assumed Teldryn to be in his room, was brandishing a butter knife, wide eyed in alarm. Teldryn froze up, not having expected the altmer to be there. It took a few moments for each of them to settle back from startling each other, during which there was a long awkward pause before curt greetings were exchanged. The silence afterwards was uncomfortable.

Ceirin hadn’t stayed long, just grabbed something to eat before heading back down. His other job had been taking up long hours. He didn’t look as if he’d slept much either. 

It was late afternoon when the rogue got back from dealing with whatever Guild business had taken up his day and later still before Teldryn went looking to confront him.

The altmer was sitting out on the deck with Sapphire, drinking mead and talking. Something in the spellsword’s expression must have tipped them off to his mood because the conversation drew to a halt. They said their goodnights and she headed back to the ratway. 

Teldryn watched her leave. 

“I need to talk to you.” He set his own drink on the table and dropped into the empty chair.

“…What did I do?” Ceirin’s eyes went wide at his tone.

By the time Teldryn was done talking, Ceirin had slouched down in his chair, his feet up on the railing. 

“Amateurs. “ He rubbed a hand over his face. There were shadows under his eyes.

At the doubtful expression on the dunmer’s face, he sighed and explained.

“Whoever robbed those farmers wasn’t professional. We attract folks who want in; not all of them have what it takes. The rejects tend to hang around until their stupidity either gets them caught or they do enough damage that we have to run them off.” He sighed, “I’ll talk to Dirge and Delvin about cleaning house tomorrow.” 

“As for the rest...” The altmer continued. He reached into a pocket and dug out the missing coin purse, pushing it across the table to the spellsword, “That explains why Vipir was so anxious for me to get this back to you. Said he took it off someone who was bragging about robbing ‘that scary bug looking guy’. He figured it was you.” 

“He’s probably the one who took it.” Teldryn snatched the purse back, not quite willing to forgive and forget just yet.

“Ever since the bath tub incident, he’s terrified of you.” Ceirin shook his head.

“Stop calling it that.”

“Did you find any other trouble while I was out?”

“What? No.” Teldryn snapped. 

Covering a yawn, the rogue lapsed into a long silence while the spellsword eyed him and wondered if that jab had been as deliberate as it had sounded or if he was reading into it too much. Maybe the altmer was just in a bad mood. He was certainly tired. Perhaps his ‘other job’ hadn’t been going well. 

When the setting sun angled low enough so that Ceirin couldn’t slouch any lower to avoid it, he hauled himself back up.

“Are we good?”

Teldryn had more to argue and had taken a breath to start in on it but when he turned to look at the altmer, his stomach did an odd little flip and his lost what he had been getting ready to say.

The last rays of the setting sun had touched across Ceirin’s face and turned his eyes into pools of living flame. It was a disconcerting effect. Dragonlike. It suited him. 

The sun dropped below the horizon then and the moment passed, and Teldryn became aware that he had been staring while the altmer squinted at him, waited for him to answer. 

“….Sure. We’re good.” He managed. He couldn’t figure out what had just happened. It left him unsettled. 

Their conversation at an end, Ceirin went in to get some sleep.

The spellsword stayed where he was while he finished his drink; watching fish jump out on the lake, the ripples spreading out across the water. _We’re good_. He wondered why he had said it when it felt increasingly as though they weren’t anymore.


	16. Chapter 16

As the sun sank, the altmer on the deck rose to go back inside the house. The dunmer, who was only of passing interest, remained seated. 

The slight figure that crouched in the bushes across the lake stopped to make note of the sighting before packing away the spyglass. Rising to stretch cramped limbs, she pondered the information she had gleaned.

The name, age, and physical description all matched. Now there was an address. It was time to head back to report her findings.

Hopefully, her employer would be pleased.


	17. Chapter 17

On a muggy night filled with fireflies and the occasional Luna moth, light still shone from the windows and doors of the Bee and Barb. The Inn was packed despite the late hour. Drinks were still flowing. Conversation, music, and laughter spilled out into the night along with intoxicated patrons weaving their way home. 

Teldryn sat at a corner table, his back to the wall, nursing his drink and attempting to carry on a conversation with Sapphire and Rune over the din when Brynjolf made his way over and dropped into the only remaining chair. 

“Here we go again.” Brynjolf gestured back towards Ceirin. 

The familiar figure was drinking at the bar surrounded by people. Delvin, Vipir, and a few others Teldryn didn’t know were close at hand. Some kind of story was being told, gestures loose and too large. Raucous laughter burst forth. A moment ago they had been downing shots as fast as the bartender could set them out. 

It was Ceirin’s birthday, and the Guild was out tonight in force to celebrate. In fact, some of them had started ‘celebrating’ at the Flagon much earlier. 

Many of Riften’s law abiding citizens were present as well. Ceirin had a good reputation in the city. He had cleared a number of bounties for the Jarl and helped a few of the locals. Teldryn had worked on some of the more recent ones but he hadn’t been in Riften long enough for that level of recognition. 

Valindor had come by earlier. He’d hung around, hopeful, until he’d realized his flirtations were going unanswered. Giving up, he’d made an excuse about having to work early the next morning, and ducked out. Teldryn had no intention of a relationship with the bosmer and hoped his standoffish demeanor would serve as a hint to that. If not, well, that was a conversation for another day.

“Here goes what again?” Rune asked.

The spellsword frowned when he noticed Ceirin sway and catch himself against the bar. His friend was overindulging tonight, and unlike the red haired Nord seated at their table, Ceirin just didn’t have the same tolerance for heavy drinking. From where he sat and kept a watchful eye out, Teldryn didn’t envy him the hangover he was going to have come morning. But for now, Ceirin was enjoying himself. Besides, the spellsword wondered, what was the point of throwing a birthday party if the celebrant couldn’t cut loose?

“Ah, some of the boys are trying to drag our poor guild master off to the Bunk House as a birthday gift.” 

Teldryn refocused on the conversation. 

“Ugh.” Sapphire made a face that perfectly expressed the merits of that idea. “You’re not going to let them are you?” 

“I’m staying out of it, lass!” The Guild’s second shook a finger at her. “As long as I don’t have to bail anyone out tomorrow, they can find whatever trouble suits them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s just the fellow I’ve been meaning to talk to.” He stood, sketched a short bow, tucked his hair back behind drink-reddened ears, and made his way back across the room towards his latest target. 

Sapphire leaned in to be heard over fresh peals of laughter from a nearby table.

“Haelga’s not a whore. She and Ceirin _hate_ each other. If he were sober, I wouldn’t worry, but tonight?” 

“Maybe you should get him out of here before those idiots do something regrettable?” Rune suggested, finishing off his drink. “He looks about to fall over, anyway.”

Teldryn agreed. He wasn’t keen on breaking up any fights or getting Ceirin out of prison, either. He left the last half of his drink on the table as he vacated his seat and looked around. But the tall mer was nowhere to be seen. He checked near the bar just in case Ceirin had ended up on the floor, although he didn’t think the altmer had been that far gone. Yet. 

Upstairs was next but the altmer wasn’t there either. Expanding his search outside, he headed out into the humid night.

It wasn’t hard to catch up, then.

Ceirin’s height made him easy to spot as soon as his group passed into some torchlight. And the trio hadn’t made it all that far. In the middle of the bridge, they’d gotten distracted. They were attempting to climb over the railings to swim in the canal. Shouts and shoving ensued as they egged each other on, overloud dares and muffled insults carrying on the still air. Their antics had attracted the attention of a guard. 

Teldryn arrived just in time to hear the threat of jail time being offered. 

“I’d listen to the guard, if I were you.” Teldryn drawled as he approached.

“What’s it to you?” One of the new members, whose name Teldryn didn’t know, demanded. Belligerent, the set of his shoulders and the hands curling into fists gave away his readiness to turn this into a fight. There were enough alcohol fumes on the man’s breath to start a fire. 

Wanting to avoid trouble, the spellsword used the only ammunition he had that might work with this sort. Even if it was only by association.

“Brynjolf wants you both back inside. Now.” It wasn’t that much of a lie. 

They grumbled about it, but hands unclenched, shoulders drooped, and they both turned and shuffled off back in the direction of the Inn. The guard, seeing that he had things more or less under control, and hearing Brynjolf’s name dropped, left them off with a standard warning about public drunkenness and went back to her rounds. 

He grabbed Ceirin’s arm and pulled him away towards the house, ignoring the odors of sweat and strong liquor. 

The altmer pulled free and veered off on his own. Unable to keep a straight line, he nearly ended up in the bushes. He came to a stop, swaying and staring around as if he didn’t recognize his surroundings, feet shuffling for balance. His gaze remained unfocused until he noticed Teldryn again.

“Hey! You! You….. Look like this guy I know. Jus..jush just like him. Is great!” He tried to pet Teldryn’s face.

“Lucky me.” The spellsword rolled his eyes and batted the altmer’s hands away. 

Ceirin slung an arm over his shoulder and tried to hug him; his full body weight behind it. Teldryn was the one staggering to keep his balance then as they headed off in the wrong direction. They walked in a circle before starting off towards the house.

At this rate he would count himself blessed if they didn’t both end up in the canal. If he had trusted the taller mer to stay put, he might’ve gone for the wheelbarrow. But if he was any judge, Ceirin was moving out of the hyper drunk stage and into falling down drunk. There was no telling what kind of trouble he’d get himself into if the spellsword left him alone.

“…’m tired.” Ceirin yawned. His weight dragged harder on Teldryn’s neck as he tried to sit down in the middle of the walk. 

“Well, we’re almost home. You can sleep it off.” 

It was a straight shot to the door now. Teldryn could drag him from here if he had to. A few more staggered steps with long resting pauses in between and they reached the house. _Thank Azura._

Propping the long figure up against the door frame, Teldryn patted Ceirin’s pockets down until he located the keys. He should have thought to get them earlier. Or bring his own, but he hadn’t counted on Ceirin getting this trashed. Ceirin rested his back against the wall a moment before he slid, boneless, to the ground. He pulled his knees up and put his head down over his folded arms. He wouldn’t get up again when the door was opened. 

As tempting as it was to risk a fine and leave him to sleep there on the stoop, Teldryn reached down and hoisted him back to his feet. As soon as the tall rogue was up and standing again, he made a little sound of distress. 

“If you’re going to be sick, please do it out here. I’m not mopping the floor.” 

“Dizzy. Its all..spinning.” The altmer sounded forlorn.

“N’wah.” The spellsword muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He turned to get his arm around the taller mer to haul him through the door when Ceirin caught his shoulders. Thinking Ceirin was about to fall, Teldryn put his hands out to steady him. Only Ceirin didn’t fall.

He leaned in close. And kissed him.

Teldryn was caught by surprise. Pinned between Ceirin and the door frame, he didn’t have room to back away. 

And if he were being perfectly honest, he didn’t want to. This close, he could feel the heat radiating off the altmer. _It had been so comfortable to sleep near that whenever they had been camping._ And as kisses went, it was….

Not terrible.

Ceirin’s parted lips were lightly chapped and carried the faint burn of residual alcohol. It was off center and a bit sloppy. But the warmth and pressure made him want to lean into it. And there was a nice bit of suction and the scrape of teeth against his bottom lip just before the kiss broke off that gave him a brief pang of regret over not being the sort of immoral person who could live with taking advantage of a drunken friend.

Ceirin pushed back away then and lurched through the house on his own, moving from one piece of furniture to another in an unsteady path to the bed. He fell over the low dresser at the foot of the bed, recovering on his own to climb on top of it so he could crawl up the rest of the way. He collapsed face first just short of his pillow.

Teldryn shook his head and followed, closing and locking the door on his way. He brushed the backs of his fingers across his mouth.

“…Ah...what in Oblivion did you do that for?” He had to ask. Not that this was at all an ideal time to talk about it. But Ceirin, passed out at last, only rubbed his face into the blankets to get more comfortable. 

“Never mind.” Teldryn sighed. He set to pulling Ceirin’s boots off, flung a blanket over him, set out a bucket, and cracked the window open. Tomorrow would prove rough for the thief. 

Before turning to leave, Teldryn pressed a kiss to his own fingers and then touched Ceirin’s hair. He smoothed some disheveled strands back from the altmer’s face.

“Happy birthday, s’wit.” He murmured, and headed down to his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, nothing like an awkward first kiss to make things awkward. Drunk!Ceirin is a disaster. Teldryn is in denial and making some poor choices. And Valindor seems like he would have lot in common with Teldryn, but don’t feel too sorry for him.
> 
> How old is Ceirin? He’s 73. Teldryn did guess that, but he guessed it when Ceirin was 72 so it doesn’t count.
> 
> There is conflicting info on how long mer live. I know the folks at ESO have declared 300yrs to be the mer lifespan, but that doesn’t work for me. Especially when you consider that Teldryn talks about having met St Jiub, who died during the Oblivion crisis, over 200yrs before the events of Skyrim. That would put Teldryn somewhere in his mid 200s at the youngest.… according to ESO’s canon, that’s middle aged heading into old. And that makes no sense. I follow that they live closer to 800-1000yrs, that way 200-300 is a reasonable age to still be looking to make your fortune, with some experience behind you.


	18. Chapter 18

The spellsword crept upstairs in the early morning quiet. He had stared at the ceiling for hours, thinking about that kiss. He had concluded that while he very much wished it hadn’t happened, it wasn’t the kiss itself that bothered him so much. 

It bothered him that Ceirin had been drunk. If he’d been sober…well, that bothered him too, but in a stomach- full- of- butterflies kind of way. And that was so terrifying and ridiculous in its implications that he had chosen to ignore it. There was an unspoken rule about not going after friends when it came to relationships. That was a whole other level of trouble that he did not need.

They would probably need to talk about the kiss, regardless. A conversation which was guaranteed to be uncomfortable. He wasn’t at all sure about what he should say. What he needed to say. He had no idea why Ceirin had kissed him in the first place. People did all kinds of insensible things when they were drunk. Maybe it had just been the alcohol. 

He peeked up over the top of the stairs. It wouldn’t hurt to be a little cautious in how he approached the issue. Ceirin likely would want to sleep in anyway.

The altmer- shaped lump under the blankets hadn’t moved. Somewhat unsurprised to find he’d be on his own to start off the day, he tiptoed past the bed and out the door. 

He practiced with his sword for a few hours down on the shore. There were fewer boats out at this hour than usual. Apparently, Ceirin wasn’t the only one taking extra time this morning. It was peaceful; gulls cried, the waves splashed against rocks along the shore. Fog rose up off the surface of the water, catching the rising sunlight. Birds flitted through the trees, chirping. Walking through guard progressions and cuts became a meditative thing; relaxing and energizing instead of strenuous.

He went for a swim, dressed, and fixed his hair. Still no sign that Ceirin was awake. He tiptoed about as he made himself breakfast; tea, and an omelet with a buttery piece of toast. He ate out on the deck.

Still nothing. 

He cleaned up his dishes and went to the bookcase to get something to read. Creaky floor boards along the way couldn’t be avoided. The first book he picked caused another to fall off the shelf. Several more followed as he scrambled to try and catch them. A faint circular wave of dust rose and wafted out across the floorboards as the noise dissipated. 

A muffled groan sounded and the blanket lump slowly curled itself up into a defensive ball. 

Teldryn sighed and set to putting the books back. So much for letting the rogue sleep in.

“Rough night?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. 

A whimper and some faint whispers in altmeri that might have been curses or a plea to be put out of his misery came from under the blankets.

“There’s tea if you’d like, or I could make you some eggs?” Teldryn continued, smirking a bit as he pulled a book about the history of Tamriel off the shelf. It was salt in the wound, he knew, but Ceirin had been a pain in the ass last night and the spellsword wasn’t looking forward to the conversation later. He figured he was entitled to a little harmless revenge when the opportunity presented itself. 

At the mention of eggs, the blankets flew back and Ceirin lunged for the bucket.

Wincing, Teldryn got him a glass of water. He left the pitcher nearby along with a mild healing potion. Then he took his book and headed back out to the deck. Watching Ceirin get sick was not an experience he cared to repeat.

He was engrossed in a chapter about Atmora, detailing some theories as to why it had frozen over, when Sapphire came padding around the side of the house, cautious and catlike, and up to the deck. Teldryn dropped his feet off the spare chair and pushed it out for her.

“The boss still alive?” 

“Sicker than a pickled netchling, but he’ll live.”

The woman frowned over his description, but nodded. “Most of the guild is in the same state this morning.” 

Teldryn made a mental note to stop using netch analogies. People in Skyrim didn’t seem to understand them. Most of them had never even seen a netch.

“I…just wanted to say thanks. For making sure he made it home without any trouble.” 

Teldryn set the book down.

“You’re protective of him. Why?” 

The woman bristled at the question, her shoulders tensing. She glared at Teldryn for a long moment before she came to a decision, sat back and gathered her thoughts.

“The Guild is mostly men. They’re not terrible, but I don’t get along with all of them. Ceirin is one of the few who’s been kind to me and never wanted anything in return for it. I don’t have a lot of friends…” She looked away, uncomfortable.

“So you look out for the ones you do have.” Teldryn finished her line of thought, nodding. That he understood.

“Yeah. Besides, something has been bothering him, lately. He needed to let loose a bit, not land in trouble that could have made the whole Guild look bad.”

He told her how he had invoked Brynjolf’s name to diffuse the situation with the guard, trying to get a read on if that would be a problem. She laughed.

“You live with our Guild Master. You’re safe unless Ceirin decides you’re not. His opinion is the only one you need to worry about. ”

He nodded, chewing his lip for a moment.

“…He kissed me. Last night. Right before he passed out.” _Why was he telling her this?_

Sapphire’s eyes widened.

“That’s… awkward. But..he doesn’t. . .I mean. ..Are you…?” She trailed off, shaking her head.

“I just wish I knew if it was him, or the booze. Then I would have a better idea of what to say.” Teldryn stretched his neck a bit, trying to ease the nervous feeling that was threatening to settle in. _If the conversation was uncomfortable for him it had to be worse for her. Ceirin was technically her boss._

“Maybe he needed to drink.” Seeing his confusion, she explained, “To work up the nerve? Ceirin’s not with anyone. The Guild is…Well, a lot of people there have slept with a lot of other people there. And they all gossip, so everyone always finds out.”

Teldryn chuckled softly. He’d known people like that.

“When Ceirin first got here, he got a _lot_ of attention; from women and from men. But he just ignored it all. Unless the person got so obvious that he couldn’t ignore them. Then he would get freaked out and avoid them.” 

The sudden memory surfaced in Teldryn’s mind of what the altmer had said about Mirri that night they’d been drunk back in Raven Rock… _‘I don’t know her’_. Teldryn ran a fast tally in his head of all the times he’d witnessed and came up with a matching observation. 

“So…he isn’t…” It was Teldryn’s turn to trail off. He wasn’t sure what he was even trying to ask.

“It might be because he’s an Altmer; a cultural thing, maybe? Or he doesn’t like sex. Some people don’t. Whatever the reason, he just gets shy if people are too forward.” Her tone was a bit defensive. 

She grinned then, turning coy.

“Why? Are you interested in him?” 

“…I…No. I thought you were…” Teldryn could keep himself from blurting that out, cringing as he heard it out loud. 

“No. I’m not.” She snorted, “But if people think that Ceirin and I are together, then they leave us both alone. So it works in our favor.” She shrugged as if that should have explained itself.

She tilted her head and considered for a moment before she changed the subject.

“I’ve been meaning to ask…Did Ceirin ever tell you about the letter he brought me back from Solstheim?”

“Sure, he told me.” Teldryn had been expecting this question.

“He said you know him. Glover Mallory, I mean.” She hesitated, fidgeting. “What’s he like? I’d ask Delvin, but, he’d want to know why I was asking and I haven’t told him yet.”

He shared a few stories, grateful for the change of topic. She took her leave after about an hour, heading back to guild’s base beneath the city before the summer sun could finish turning Riften into a fetid steam bath for the rest of the day. 

He was just getting back into his book when Ceirin, wrapped in a blanket, shuffled out onto the deck with a mug of tea and slumped into the empty chair.

“You look like death warmed over. Did you drink the water and…?” The spellsword glanced up from the page.

The altmer waved a hand at him in irritation and nodded, then squeezed his eyes shut in regret of the motion.

“Yeah. Potion, too. Thanks.” His voice was just above a rough whisper. He slouched with an elbow on the table, hand over his eyes. 

“How did I get home?” He asked after a moment, cracking open an eye to peek at the spellsword between his fingers so he wouldn’t have to lift his head.

“You don’t remember?” Teldryn set his book down, a sinking feeling in his stomach. “I dragged your sorry corpse back here. It wasn’t easy, either. You’re heavier than you look.”

“Sorry. I remember… throwing darts? Talking to people. And being at the bar..” He raised his head up, nose scrunched up in concentration. “The shots with Niruin… how many?”

“Five, that I saw. But I don’t know what was in them.”

“…It was cold and green and kind of oily?” Ceirin grimaced and went a bit pale at the memory. 

Teldryn shrugged. He had an idea of what it might have been, but the liqueurs that came out of Black Marsh were not for the faint of heart. A description could wait until the altmer was recovered. He wasn’t feeling quite mean enough to go so far as to make the rogue sick again.

“Talen- Jei mixed some things for us. And Thrynn had a flask of brandy we were splitting... Did we go swimming?”

Teldryn shook his head in bemusement. 

“You almost took a dive into the canal. You know there’s been a dead skeever floating in there for at least a week?” 

He couldn’t stop himself from jabbing at Ceirin again. He just felt petty. 

“Don’t remind me.” Ceirin groaned and wrapped an arm over his stomach.

Sighing, Teldryn explained the rest. He left out the part about the kiss. If Ceirin didn’t remember, or didn’t want to, it would save them both an awkward conversation. 

Probably for the best to pretend it hadn’t happened.


	19. Chapter 19

Walking through the city streets, the little bosmer kept alert for any danger. Alinor might appear pretty but it held dangers worse than any jungle; it was no place for outsiders. And while their two nations were supposedly allies, the Altmeri had never been known for their openness. Being a private detective, and currently employed, she was here on business, but one never knew with the Thalmor. She double checked her inside coat pocket to make sure she still had her papers. It wouldn't do to get caught without them.

She hired the first carriage driver who stopped for her. Once underway, she shifted back against the leather bench and tried to relax, watching out the window as the carriage passed below tall buildings shining in the sun, neatly tended parks, and avenues bustling with people. Eventually, they moved out of the city proper and into the higher class neighborhoods where the sprawling estates of the wealthy were set amid picturesque hills and sparsely wooded fields.

When she was dropped off, she stepped down onto the flagstone path that led across the lush green lawn and up to the manor house. Perfectly manicured flower beds were overflowing with colorful fragrant blossoms. Her ears pricked up at an irregular sound. Looking around, she spied a male altmer working with a large pair of summoned shears, trimming a topiary back into its round shape on the other side of the lawn. The gardener, no doubt.

She breathed in deeply and let it out, smoothing her plain traveling clothes. She always felt under dressed no matter what she wore when coming here, although no one ever commented on her appearance. This was the kind of old wealth that never had to speak it's disapproval out loud.

An assistant opened the door without prompting, some magical ward having alerted them to her arrival. He showed her to a parlor that was set up as an office and offered refreshments. Then she was left to sit and wait.

Her employer didn't leave her waiting long.

Double glass doors opened and the lady of the house strode into the room, her smile all for show while her eyes creased with worry. The altmer woman's dark suit was impeccably tailored. Her makeup was subtle and flattered her olive complexion and dark green eyes. It left her looking younger than what the detective knew to be her actual age. Her dark hair, just beginning to show a few threads of silver, was twisted into an updo that was both practical and elegant. Jewelry graced her ears, throat, and fingers. The pieces were simple but expensive. Everything about her spoke of power and wealth but also of caution and respectability. This was not a woman who threw her influence around lightly.

"Welcome. I do hope your journey was not too strenuous. I will admit I was not expecting you back so soon. You have not run into too many problems? "

The bosmer stood to greet her host. When both women were seated, they got right to business. The letter the detective had sent from Riften before boarding a ship in Solitude to return had only included the request for this meeting, but not the discovery behind it.

"No, ma'am. I've an update I thought you might want. Given some of my findings, I thought it would be best to explain in person."

"Have you done it then? Have you found my sons?"

"No, ma'am, not both of them. I have found one. Ceirindril."

"So he is alive. I had wondered…You will tell me what you have learned."

They spoke together well into the evening.


	20. Chapter 20

With the Guild busy training some new members, the summer saw the two mer ranging out farther from Riften. They spent a few days traveling west and into Whiterun hold. 

The high tor on which the city was built rose above the gentle rolling plains that made up the White River valley. Bridges crossed back and forth over the noisy, fast flowing water as it rushed away from the city. The narrow floodplain surrounding it made for excellent farmland and nearly all of it had been tilled. Outside the walls, laborers worked in fields of vegetables and grains, still green and redolent of manure enriched soil, in the warm summer sun.

Within the walls, neat wood shingle houses stood evenly spaced along the cobbled road, their cheery paint faded by the sun. In between, laundry flapped on lines strung out over areas of sparse grass interwoven with herbs. Children hollered and ran about underfoot, shoving and ducking around the adults, releasing the scent of crushed thyme into the dusty air. 

A few of the larger places had animal pens with a few goats or chickens. One home even had a cow grazing placidly in the yard. The constant rushing of the wind across the plains brought a cool breath of air down from the mountains. Damages taken during the civil war had largely been repaired, although a few scars remained; vacant lots where houses had burned down, some incomplete stonework on the walls, and the occasional rocky heap of an old fortification slowly disappearing under encroaching weeds.

The spellsword had been curious to see the place Ceirin had first become known as the Dragonborn. Whiterun was considered idyllic by Nord standards. While it was both cleaner and friendlier than Riften, it was still a long way from what Teldryn considered to be a city.

Overall, it was the sort of place people thought of when they talked about settling down and raising children.

Hearing Ceirin greeted as Dragonborn as they walked down the street was something. A few of the introductions surprised him; he hadn’t known that Ceirin had worked with the Companions before moving to Riften. There seemed to be some bad blood there, so when the altmer suggested that they not stay long, Teldryn didn’t argue, even if he did have a hundred questions he wanted to ask.

They explored, tried their luck at fishing in the river until that proved boring, and took up a bounty from the Thane for one of the giant camps out on the plains. 

Giants were no new challenge to Teldryn, who had faced off against one while working with his previous employer. But they were difficult. A giant’s territorial nature made them about the most dangerous job aside from dragons. If the mammoths got involved, it was all too easy for someone to end up trampled into paste. 

They managed to lure the giant out away from his mammoths. Those towering legs could cover far more ground than their normally plodding movements hinted at. Then the fight was on in earnest. A club whistling in at the spellsword’s head missed as he dove sideways into a roll. It split the trunk of the closest tree when it hit. Splinters and bits of bark pattered off his armor as he came back up to his feet and scrambled to keep running, trying to lead it past the rogue.

Ceirin, perched up in the rocks and firing arrows, was up and running, too. The altmer slung his bow over his shoulders, drew his blades, and then jumped.

Onto the giant.

Another atronach to keep it distracted, and then Teldryn was trying to flank while simultaneously harassing it with spells, his sword, and trying to make sure he didn’t get in Ceirin’s way when the rogue dropped back to the ground. 

The giant sank to its knees, and then proceeded to plow face first into the ground. On closer inspection, they found that Ceirin had cut something vital in its neck. The dark blood pooled out around its head as the two mer tried to catch their breath.

Teldryn still felt as though the ground were shaking. He looked up, just in time to see Ceirin’s eyes go wide in horror. 

One of the mammoths had come looking for its master; just in time to see the giant die. Its tiny eyes narrowed. It trumpeted in rage. And then it charged.

There was no way to outrun it. The rocky cliff face Ceirin had shot from earlier was in the wrong direction. Teldryn, stunned by the sheer volume of its screams, couldn’t seem to get his legs to work against the way the ground shook. 

The noise increased. How that was even possible, he was beyond reasoning. He squeezed his eyes shut against it. Then there was a nauseating pressure and the dizzying feel of movement, as if he were being flung at high speed. Had he been kicked? Or was this how it felt to be stepped on? _Odd. He had thought it would hurt more._

After a moment, the sensations stopped. Deafened and disoriented, he gradually understood that nothing hurt worse than it already had, that his feet still seemed to be under him, and that someone was shaking him by the shoulder. He opened his eyes.

Ceirin’s mouth was moving but the spellsword couldn’t make out what he was saying. 

He gestured to his ears. 

The altmer nodded and tugged at his arm, urging him without words to keep moving. 

They were… back up on the road?! A mile away from the camp and the angry mammoth or more. If they kept moving, they might actually make it. His knees felt like jelly, but in that state it was better to keep going rather than to rest and give his body a chance to get tired.

By the time they made it back to Whiterun and picked up their payment, Teldryn’s hearing had mostly come back. His left ear was still dimmed, aches and pains and exhaustion were settling in, but not enough to deter him just yet. 

“What was that back there? How did you get us back to the road?”

“It’s a Shout. Whirlwind sprint. I don’t use it much, but when I saw that thing heading right for us? I just shouted for all I was worth and grabbed you along the way.” Ceirin let out long sigh, shaking his head. “That was too close. I don’t want to be mammoth cheese.”

It shouldn’t have been funny. But somehow the two mer exchanged a look and both began to laugh. And then they couldn’t stop. Leaning on each other, they drew odd looks from the serving staff on their way out of Dragonsreach. 

The mirth had died down by the time they got to the top of the outer staircase. The spellsword followed the altmer’s worried gaze to the dark wreath of heavy cloud cover around the mountains. 

“Stay or go?” Teldryn wasn’t familiar with the weather around the Throat of the World.

“Go. But, I’m thinking we take the carriage. That high up, it could be snow.” 

Sure enough, the temperature dropped as they rode north along the bend of the river. They unfolded their bedrolls and bundled up in them for extra protection. Everything grew hushed except for the creak of the wagon and the sounds made by the horses. The crisp scent of snow filled in the air. Teldryn’s ear started ringing again, growing into a persistent ache as it grew colder the higher up they went. A fine grainy powder began to fall. Before long a blizzard started to come down. By the time they were pulling into Ivarstead to rest the horses and give passengers a chance to stretch and get something to eat at the Inn, the pain in Teldryn’s ear had spread to include his throat. He couldn’t get warm. Even with his blankets wrapped around his shoulders, he shivered. 

When he didn’t move, Ceirin came scrambling back up to check on him. Warm hands reached out to touch his face, tipping his chin up. _How was he always so warm?_ It felt wonderful. Right up until those long fingers dug into the sore places along the sides of his throat, under his jaw. Flinching away, he made a little sound of discomfort.

“You’re sick. Why didn’t you say something?” Ceirin peered down at him, brows furrowed beneath the shadow of his hood.

“I thought I was just tired.” Teldryn groaned and put his head down in defeat. He _hated_ being sick.

In the half hour that the carriage spent in the little hamlet before continuing on, Ceirin managed to do some fast trading. He got a whole flask of hot tea made fresh from the pungent herb known to the locals as ‘elves ears’. Some generous soul had laced it heavily with whiskey and honey to ease a sore throat. He got an extra blanket and a ridiculous fur hat that covered Teldryn’s ears, which he made the spellsword wear. Teldryn tried to grumble about it but he found he didn’t have the energy to resist. Besides, it was warm. The rogue had also managed to get two chicken pot pies, fresh out of the oven. They ate in the back of the carriage and watched the little village disappear around a bend in the road. 

The food and drink having helped to warm him some, the spellsword settled into his blanket nest and managed a fitful sleep for the rest of the trip.

Ceirin stayed awake, watching in concern as the spellsword’s fever worsened. He hoped whatever it was, that he didn’t catch it. He mentally ran through his stock of dried herbs and apothecary supplies in the basement at home, thinking of potions he could brew once they got back.

The weather followed them down from Ivarstead, the snow easing into a fine drizzle that fell on them all the way back to Riften.

Teldryn was sick for days. Achy, feverish, and the sore throat turned into a general kind of congestion after about a week. He made for a stubborn, whiny patient. He spent the week sleeping in Ceirin’s bed, mainly because that first night back, Ceirin had been too tired to drag him all the way downstairs. So he’d simply switched rooms until the spellsword was feeling better.

To make matters worse, the illness was making its way around Riften. Ceirin split his time between the Guild, checking on Teldryn, keeping up on the household errands, and running to the apothecary where he gave them an extra hand grinding ingredients and mixing potions. By weeks end, he was exhausted.

Which was, of course, when he caught it, too.


	21. Chapter 21

Teldryn woke up late one afternoon feeling far better. Ceirin was still stuffy after taking to bed for few days. He had proved better at following healers’ orders when he was sick then the spellsword, so he hadn’t needed as much time to recover. 

The altmer was in the kitchen, working on something for dinner. Whatever it was, the aroma was spicy and made the spellsword’s stomach growl. Out of bed, he padded over to investigate. 

“Rabbit stew.” Ceirin explained, “The meat’s ground up, so it shouldn’t take too much longer.” He peered into the pot for a moment before tossing in a few more spices and continuing to stir.

Teldryn helped himself to piece of carrot left on the cutting board.

“Marise sells it ground? Do you have to ask her? I’ve only ever seen the frozen stuff.” 

“Ah…This wasn’t from Marise’s. Valindor brought it over last night. You were asleep. He seems really concerned about you.” 

The spellsword rubbed his hands up over his face. _What?_

“He brought us food?”

Ceirin had an odd expression Teldryn couldn’t read but it was lost a moment later when the rogue turned back to stirring the stew.

“No, Teldryn. He brought _you_ food. He kept apologizing because he hadn’t had time to cook or he would have brought something already made. I guess he was sick this week, too? But…ah, he may have seen into the house past me and noticed…that, um, you were sleeping…” He trailed off with a gesture towards his bed. 

“If you need me to tell him…” That strange expression again.

“No. No. That’s…I’ll talk to him. This might help, actually.” 

“What? You _want_ him to think you and I are..? Why?” 

“Who does this?” Teldryn countered. “It was one night.”

Ceirin leaned back against the mantle and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“People who care do things like this. So you slept with him and, what, now he can’t ever do nice things or express concern for you?”

“It’s really more of a mutual unspoken agreement to never act as though you’ve slept together.” Teldryn growled. 

Ceirin snorted and gave Teldryn a derisive look. 

“Then what’s the point? Only sleeping with people who don’t like you?”

“The point is to take emotions out of it. Avoids complications.”

“Well, good luck with that.” Ceirin’s tone was sharp. 

“What is your problem?” Teldryn stared at the altmer.

“I guess I just found the thing about you that I don’t find respectable.”

Teldryn gaped as the altmer continued.

“I steal. You know that; you know more about my life than anyone. You said you were alright with it. But ever since we got here, you’ve complained, acted like you are somehow better than we are, and tried to tell me how to do my job? Here you are ready to lie to someone to make him go away and you want to bring me into it? For what? To spare yourself the inconvenience of someone wanting more from you than just sex?”

“Is that what you think? I said I would talk to him. Ceirin, the only reason I know about your life is because you told me. No one else does because you _choose not to tell them_. So what are you trying to spare yourself from?” 

There was a long silence before the altmer answered him.

“The rejection.”

Teldryn flinched at the quiet answer. Apparently, Ceirin was in one of his moods today. It took the fight out of the spellsword. So he stayed silent and waited, chewing his bottom lip and glaring. 

Ceirin broke eye contact first. 

“I’m sorry. Forget I said anything, it’s none of my business. The stew should be ready in twenty more minutes.” He grabbed his coat off the chair, “I’m going out. Don’t wait.” 

Ceirin went out the door and left Teldryn standing in the kitchen with only the cheerfully bubbling pot of rabbit stew and the overwhelming sense that their argument had been about something else for company. So much for feeling better. 

He should have just stayed in bed.


	22. Chapter 22

One morning they woke up to find the wood pile out on the deck had been restocked. A few days after that a spell book was left wrapped and bound with twine on the stoop. It was always at night. They never heard or saw anything.

“Teldryn, this had got to stop.” Ceirin turned to hand him the latest offering; a basket of fresh herbs. “You said you would talk to him.”

“I’ve been over there three times already but I can’t seem to catch him when he’s home. I’ll take this back tonight.” He tossed the basket onto the table. 

“Can we just go?” 

Things between them had been strained. Ceirin was spending even more time with his Guild friends instead of around the spellsword. At first, Teldryn had been relieved. The distance meant Ceirin would be unlikely to witness things when he confronted Valindor and it spared them any further fighting. 

But every time he had gone over to knock on the wood elf’s door, no one had answered. It had passed from irritating to concerning to unnerving. Even Ceirin was more worried now than angry. How was the bosmer getting onto the property without either of them noticing? 

The rogue had even gone so far as to ask Niruin about it and the other thief had confirmed; gift giving was a courtship behavior common to some groups of bosmer. But Niruin had also pointed out that presenting gifts was used more as an excuse for a potential couple to socialize and get to know one another and that there were protocols regarding how to accept or reject such gifts, and by extension, the suitor. 

That Valindor chose to keep himself hidden was unusual and denied Teldryn the ability to turn him down according to custom; it was inappropriate by his own cultures standards. This only raised further questions as to what the bosmer was trying to accomplish. 

Teldryn sighed and shifted his shoulders in irritation. One more discussion he wasn’t looking forward to. 

They locked up and headed towards the gates. The weather was threatening rain again, but as long as it held off, there was a cave on the other side of the lake that needed exploring. With any luck, getting out of the house for a bit of minor adventuring would help clear the air between them some.

On their way up around the shores to the northwest, Teldryn could see that the leaves at higher elevations were already beginning to turn. Skyrim’s summer season was short and in a few months the mountain peaks would be coated in snow. 

The spellsword breathed in the scent of grass and growing plants, determined to enjoy the time outdoors while it lasted. Despite the overcast sky, it was warm and humid. Birds warbled sweetly in the trees. Butterflies floated among the fields. A dragonfly followed them for bit, darting across their path, until it zoomed off on its own business. 

They hiked up to the old ridge that marked the ancient lake shore and then climbed up beyond it into the rocky slopes that rose out of the light mixed woods of birch, maple, and the occasional spruce. They stopped to pick and eat some blackberries along the way and narrowly avoided being chased by an enormous bear that had come out to do the same. 

The morning wore on and Ceirin’s mood lightened. They were soon talking and teasing each other as though nothing had happened. It felt good to get back towards something closer to normal, even if they still avoided any serious discussion. 

As they started up the narrow road that led to the cave entrance, a voice called out.

“That’s close enough.”

Startled, both mer ducked back against the cliff and looked about, but neither could catch a glimpse of the speaker. The cave was being guarded. 

Their day had just gotten more interesting. 

Teldryn pressed close to the cliff face and nodded to Ceirin, who held his hands out away from his blades and proceeded forward, cautious and peering about. Insults were called down from their unseen assailant as Ceirin continued his advance. 

Judging from the volume of her yelling, she was close. So why couldn’t they see her? Most people would have fired a few arrows or called for backup by now. Did she think threats would stop them? 

Then again, the blast of ice magic that hit Ceirin full on and sent him tumbling back past Teldryn’s feet just might. 

Their attacker, a necromancer; if the black robes were any indication, jumped down from an upper ledge where she had been hiding. 

Teldryn pulled his blade and moved to intercept before she could take the opportunity to practice her particular art on either of them.


	23. Chapter 23

As the altmer woman stepped into the bed chamber, the servant who had been in attendance stepped out at a nod from her, leaving her alone with the rooms only other occupant. 

“How did your meeting go?” Her husband barely glanced up from his writing desk, where he was shuffling papers and sheet music into a battered leather folio and rolling up quills as part of his last minute packing. 

“Alright. She’s updated me on Ceirindril, at any rate.” She ran her hands down the front of her blouse, tugging at the hem nervously. “He’s still in Skyrim.”

“So he has been there this entire time?” Arncurion paused and turned to look at her. “I had figured Cyrodiil, or maybe even Valenwood. But there?” 

“I have never understood why our eldest does any of the things he does.” Nalarie stooped to lift one of her husband’s shirts and set it into his traveling case, smoothing the wrinkles away as she did so. “He’s apparently conned the locals into thinking he’s some kind of hero. He’s probably taken them for everything their worth by now, which isn’t saying much.”

Arncurion watched her for a moment with a slight frown.

“And Elsirion? No word, then?” He asked, pointedly drawing attention to the son his wife hadn’t mentioned. 

“…No word.” Nalarie stood and sniffed, her stance too tense, as if her bones hurt. “The trail just…ends. I had hoped that given more time, she would find something, but she hasn’t been able to and it’s getting too dangerous to keep asking.”

Arncurion wondered if she would weep again. 

“Are you still set on this plan of yours?” He asked when it was clear she wouldn’t. 

“I am.” Her chin lifted, green eyes challenging him to argue. 

He considered her for a moment and then nodded. 

“I expect you know best.”

Arncurion took a moment to decide before adding another outer robe to folded sets of clothes in the travel case. He then moved to shut and latch the case and tucked his folio under his arm.

“Then I’ll see you there in several more weeks. Take care, dear.” He kissed her cheek, gave her shoulder a squeeze, and then he was gone; past her and down the hall to the stairs. 

The servant returned to take the travel case down to where the carriage was waiting. A short time later she heard the carriage pull out down the drive.

Nalarie headed to her dressing room to change. There was a dinner invitation from an old colleague and it wouldn’t do be antisocial. There were appearances to maintain, after all. 

If they tread carefully, they might just make it through to the other side of this. Wherever that was.

If nothing else, she would look Ceirindril in the eye and demand answers.


	24. Chapter 24

Teldryn had thrown himself after the necromancer outside with a viciousness that had left the altmer startled. Inside, the mercenary had unleashed some of his most devastating spells on these without hesitation. Ceirin might have been left behind if the area had been larger.

The cave was only one room; a working kitchen and apothecary site for a couple of the dark practitioners. 

Back outside, they searched for a trail. There had been no embalming tools and no dead, not even body parts. So the main location was someplace else.

They followed along what appeared to be, at first glance, a deer path. It ended at an abandoned cabin. Despite the unlivable state of the place, smoke rose from the chimney. A cloying odor hung about the place. 

It made Teldryn’s nose itch. He pulled his scarf up out of reflex.

The single lookout glanced up with no apparent care. 

“Lookin’ for a hit? Through the trap door there.” She jerked a thumb to indicate a general direction and went back to what she’d been doing; using a stick to poke a potato around in the coals. At least, it might’ve been a potato; the blackened smoldering thing no longer appeared edible.

Teldryn suspected it was not the only over baked thing in the room. _Skooma? In the middle of the woods?_

In retrospect, it made a certain kind of sense. Close enough to a population center to lure out customers, enough distance to ensure privacy, and overdoses or unwanted guests could be disposed of in the wilderness with little chance of discovery. 

He turned a questioning glance to Ceirin. Eyes narrowed, altmer nodded, and they headed for the hatch. 

Once down the ladder, they took out the guard at the end of the hall. No sign that the lookout had heard anything. 

“Shouldn’t we go back and inform someone?” Teldryn wanted a moment to regroup.

“I was thinking of that. Until I saw this.” Ceirin held up the bottle the guard had been drinking from. _Blackbriar._

“You think the Jarl is involved? From one mead bottle?” 

“Probably just a coincidence.” The altmer shrugged. “Let’s see what else is here first.”

Ceirin thought on it some more, his expression confused.

“What does skooma have to do with necromancy, though? Did we follow a wrong trail?”

It was Teldryn’s turn to shrug. He motioned to Ceirin to pull his scarf up over his face, too. It might help. When it was tied securely, they readied their blades, got into position, and opened the door.

The actual ‘den’ was small. They killed the dealer and the bouncers. Users stumbled past them, fleeing for the exit. Those they let go. Others were too far gone to run, and one wasn’t moving at all. Ceirin knelt, checking for a pulse. He drew his hand back, fingers wet with blood. 

“I may have just found our connection.” He turned the girls head for the spellsword to see.

Teldryn shuddered and backed away. Two perfect puncture marks, right over the vein. Scars showed in the same pattern all over the rest of her neck. She was dressed in a novice necromancer’s dark robe. 

“Vampires are selling drugs now? Whatever for?” He eyed the other patrons uneasily.

“Maybe it’s how they get high. Or for money.” Ceirin stood back, grimacing, before he brought his blade down across the girl’s neck. They couldn’t leave her to rise as one later. 

A key taken from the dealer opened a storage area filled with the little bottles, bags of coins, and other paraphernalia.

They took the coins. As they were packing it up, Ceirin lifted one of the vials, eyeing it curiously.  
“So…Have you ever…?”

Before he could finish the question, Teldryn snatched the vial out of his hand and smashed it to the floor. 

“I… was just asking. Not suggesting.” One sandy eyebrow arched up.

Teldryn rolled his shoulders to stretch his neck and then readjusted the scarf over his face before he set to work smashing more of the stash. “Yes. My cousin and I both tried it, a very long time ago.”

“What happened?” Ceirin moved to help destroy the drugs.

“Bad experience. When I sobered up, I swore I’d never go near the stuff again. He didn’t, and he kept using. Then he disappeared.…” The spellsword didn’t bother to finish the sentence. It was punctuated instead by the last bottle shattering on the ground. “You?” 

“Once, in Cyrodiil.” The altmer dropped a vile to the ground and crushed it under his boot heel. “And…again, after I got to Skyrim.” 

Teldryn looked up at him. When the rogue had talked about surviving Helgen, he had mentioned having a rough time afterward. The spellsword hadn’t guessed that ‘rough’ went beyond the trial of finding work and trying to keep a roof overhead in a land where one didn’t have citizenship or kin. Whatever else, the altmer was clean now. That was what mattered.

“Are you alright to be here? We should head back.”

“It’s fine. Let’s shut this place down. There can’t be that much more? And, we’ll report it to the Jarl. She needs to know there are vampires active nearby.” 

They found another locked door at the back of the chamber that led into a small room and then down a hallway. The rogue disarmed the trapped chest in the corner and they opened it to reveal more coins and pouches of gemstones. This operation had been a lucrative one.

The hallway led into an old mining complex. Carts and equipment repurposed for the drug trade filled the space; smelting vats now full of brewing skooma, the fumes strong enough to make their eyes water. 

Footsteps shuffled closer along with a sort of muttering and the sound of sniffing. The two mer caught the words _‘feed again soon’_. Ceirin motioned with his hands, touching his nose, gesturing to the hall and then to them. _Can they smell us?_

Teldryn knew next to nothing about vampirism. Except that it was contagious by contact and victims needed to be treated right away. A thought occurred to him. He tapped Ceirin’s shoulder and gestured back, mouthing the word _potions._

The altmer’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He shook his head. 

Well, that would be the challenge then. Fight without getting close enough to get infected.

After clearing the room, which had included two vampires and some thralls in black necromancer’s robes, they climbed up to the platform that overlooked the cooking operation. The spellsword sneezed as the fumes increased.

By the time they made it across the bridge, Ceirin was coughing and Teldryn felt dizzy. He was beginning to pick up flashes of movement and sparks of color in his peripheral vision that he knew couldn’t really be there. Turning back, he hit the fires under both vats with ice spells until they sputtered out and the metal cauldrons cracked from the abrupt change in temperature. Clouds of foul steam billowed up.

“I think the scarf isn’t working.” Ceirin’s laugh next to him sounded a bit disconnected. 

_Great. Why did he let Ceirin talk him into this shit?_ The spellsword readjusted his scarf, scowling, and followed the rogue deeper into the complex. 

More and more of Ceirin’s shots veered off their mark. The altmer seemed distracted; reacting to things Teldryn couldn’t see or hear. He wasn’t much better. The shadows had taken on a liquid form, oozing and shifting. 

Death hounds lurked in those shadows, burning cold with Daedric red eyes. One latched itself onto Ceirin’s arm and did it’s best to pull the altmer down by his coat sleeve before the spellsword put a blade through its chest.

Farther in, they traced a thick rivulet; sluggish, dark, and with an unpleasant metallic odor, that ran out along the floor. Even knowing from the notes they had found that it wasn’t really blood, Teldryn wanted nothing to do with it. He could even hear a heartbeat. Unnerving, until he managed to reason out that it was his own. 

They lost track of time. 

The ruins went on and on until Teldryn was sure they were miles away from the starting point. Older and more lethal vampires laired this far down. There were more thralls. Rooms full of coffins. The odors of old blood, corpse rot, and dirt that had never seen sunlight clogged their nostrils. 

It all blurred together into a long bizarre nightmare as they fought their way through to the wellspring. Whatever the bloodsucking fiends had been after, they hadn’t found it. After that there were no more vampires and the halls led them back up and around to the dealers cage near the entrance. 

They climbed up into fresh air. 

The potato lookout had been joined by another with bite marks visible on his neck. He attacked when he saw them which left them no choice but to kill both thralls. After it was done, the two mer started back to Riften, dazed and looking to leave the nightmare of it behind them. 

It was late; stars were visible through openings in the cloud cover. Crickets chorused in the grass around them, going quiet as they approached and then picking up again after their passing. Somewhere off in the distance, a sabre cat yowled and another answered. They quickened their pace, the soft night air clearing their heads some. 

A report needed to be given to the Jarl. They agreed it could wait until morning.

But when they got home, Teldryn saw the basket of herbs and was reminded of his errand. He headed back out to get it over with. Ceirin stayed, rummaging through the cabinets for food.

On the way to Valindor’s tiny apartment, shadows and echoes of sound along the canal made the spellsword jumpy. By the time he arrived at the door, his temper was on edge. He chalked it up to the terrible night he’d had so far.

He knocked. No answer. He heard a scuffling sound; movement on the other side of the door. He knocked louder. Still nothing.

“Come on, I know you’re home. Open the door. Please? ”

He was just about to leave the basket and head back when the door cracked open. 

Valindor stood in the doorway, eyes downcast. He looked like he’d just woken up.

“Ah, Teldryn…I wasn’t…”

“Can we talk?” The spellsword lifted the basket.

The bosmer let out a long sigh, but stepped back and let him inside. There were no lanterns lit. The only light was a thin arc that shone in through the barred half-moon window on the door and a faint glow of coals nearly gone out in the small fireplace. Strange, but it wouldn’t take long for his eyes to adjust. Frowning, Teldryn held the basket out again, but Valindor didn’t take it. He set it down on the crate that served as a small table near the entry.

He launched into his speech; how it was very considerate of the bosmer to bring him these things but it wasn’t warranted. He was aiming for a standard ‘it’s-not-you-it’s-me’ ending. 

Part way into something about not meaning to hurt Valindor’s feelings, Teldryn found himself pinned up against the wall, the other mer holding him fast with a strength he didn’t recall the bosmer possessing.

“Haven’t you been listening?” His mind raced, trying to comprehend what had just happened. _Was he still that out of it?_

Valindor didn’t answer, his breathing loud in the silence between them. He was nuzzling into Teldryn’s neck. 

“You smell so good.” A warm tongue flicked out over the spellsword’s throat.

Teldryn scowled. He hadn’t changed out of his filthy armor when they ‘d gotten back. Just come straight over here and … _I don’t smell good. I smell like death and blood and …_  
  
It might have been the night they’d been having, or vestige of the drug in his system that sent him fast towards paranoia when arousal had been the intended effect, but every warning bell in his brain went off at once. 

He brought both arms up and struck hard, breaking the bosmer’s grip on him. He brought a knee up, hearing the rush of air out of the bosmer’s lungs as it hit. 

Valindor staggered back. As the light from the window fell across his face it illuminated his eyes; once dark and ringed with little flecks of gold, now burning with an unholy Daedric hunger. One fang flashed, far longer than Teldryn remembered. 

The spellsword lashed out with fire. The vampire that had been Valindor flinched back, hissing. The flames caught in the dry rickety crates the bosmer had been using as shelving, providing enough light for Teldryn to dive back towards the door. 

Valindor caught him just as he grabbed for the knob.


	25. Chapter 25

Ceirin had just cracked some eggs into a bowl and was about to set the pan over the fire to melt the butter when he thought he heard yelling. Then something thudded against the door. 

Teldryn would just have let himself back in. 

Tired and annoyed, Ceirin flung the door open, wondering what would be going on at this hour. No one was there. He stepped out into the night, listening to the tromp of booted feet and the jangle of maille off across the canal. 

Guards were running, calling to each other, torches gleaming off armor. Something had certainly happened. A chill ran down Ceirin’s spine. They weren’t raiding the Ratway? _Maven was supposed to tell them beforehand._

_Wait. Didn’t Valindor live in that direction?_

He was about to go back inside and grab his coat, thinking to head over and find out what was going on, when the hair on the back of his neck prickled up, instinct warning him that something dangerous was close by.

Wary, he scanned the deeper shadows around the house, lamenting the sword and dagger he’d left inside. Cursing, he slowly crouched down and made a show of pretending to fuss with the laces on his boot, drawing free the small spare dagger he kept hidden there. Just as slowly he rose, holding the blade tucked in a reverse grip and angled out of sight behind his arm. 

There was a faint sound, a scrabbling of movement. Ceirin’s head jerked up; eyes scanning along the roofline. 

He had a moment to register a pair of glowing eyes staring at him. He brought the dagger up and across in defense. And then the vampire was on him. 

Bowled over backward, Ceirin tried to roll with the attack. 

The creature was impaled, the blade sinking to the hilt in its shoulder, by its own momentum. It screamed and slammed its head down against the altmers nose. Ceirin was left dazed and gasping in pain. The vampire took the advantage and bashed his head into the ground, then wrenched the dagger free; the point had broken off. Still shrieking, the creature slashed at the prone altmer. 

It was a near miss; Ceirin felt the broken edge of the blade sting against his jaw as he blocked the worst of the cut. He got his arm snaking up and over the creatures to twist the blade out of its hand. He heard it thump off somewhere into the grass nearby.

A Shout rose up in his throat, but fast approaching torchlight gave him pause. 

Realizing its time was up, the vampire went in for the kill; throwing its entire body weight against the rogue in a frenzy. 

Ceirin was still struggling when he felt pain in his neck and knew it was too late. Weakness rushed through him and his struggles eased.

Something heavy slammed into both of them and the vampire was lifted away. Flames seared the night sky in Ceirin’s view as a familiar atronach rushed over him, following its master into the fight.

When the vampire was destroyed, Teldryn hauled Ceirin up to his feet, steadying him against the lightheadedness that was a mix of fatigue and blood loss. One of the spellsword’s arms was bloodied on the inner side, the sleeve torn where his bracer didn’t protect. The tight lines around his mouth pulled his face into a grim expression but his eyes glittered with a rage barely held in check. 

Surrounded by guards, they were escorted up to the Temple to be treated and questioned.

Once their wounds were cleaned, bandaged, and healed, they were given something to treat any vampirism they may have contracted. The priestess made sure to watch them drink it. 

By that point, the Captain of the guard was waiting to question them. Jarl Maven Blackbriar was on hand as well, issuing orders and comments in imperious tones, her composure unaffected by being called out of bed at such a late hour.

Teldryn, Ceirin, and the guards all started talking at once. It took a while to get it all sorted out. 

There had been more than three separate vampires; reports were less than certain. One attack had hit the guard tower outside the walls, to draw attention away from the gates. The rest had slipped into the city and wreaked havoc. No one seemed to know when Valindor had been turned, except that it must have happened during the week when everyone had been sick and so no one had noticed. No one was certain if he had been a part of it, or just a coincidence.

Teldryn had fallen backwards out the door with the vampire on top of him, fangs sunk into his arm. The fight, combined with the rapidly spreading fire, had attracted the attention of the guards on their way to the gate. Outnumbered, the bosmer had chosen to flee. The spellsword had then helped chase him up into the city, only to realize more was going on, at which point the screams and sounds of fighting had led them to Ceirin. 

At least two guards from the watchtower were missing.

Ceirin explained about what they had found beneath the skooma den, in case it was connected. Proximity alone made it probable that the vampire who had turned Valindor, and maybe the ones that had orchestrated this attack, had come from that nest. It also offered a place that a vampire might go to ground come daylight.

Maven agreed to have it checked in the morning. The fire at the bosmer’s house was out. The night watch was put on alert. Gawking onlookers had been ordered back inside their houses. The bodies were disposed of. Sawdust was tossed out to soak up spilled blood and the ashes of the destroyed vampires were carefully collected. Riften would look no worse for the wear come daylight.

Ceirin was able to have a quiet word with Maul and learned the guild had not been involved, but that they had put the entrances to the Ratway under lockdown until morning. Delvin had already ordered a sweep of the tunnels to ensure no vampires were hiding among them.

Teldryn examined the bandaging on his aching arm and then eyed the fresh scars and bruising on Ceirin’s face and neck. He wondered how he was going to manage to sleep soundly ever again. Guilt and revulsion twisted through him in turns. 

Eventually, with nothing more to do that night, they were allowed to leave.

When he and Ceirin got home they washed up and then cooked a huge pan of scrambled eggs. They ate, drank down mugs of hot tea spiked with a great deal of brandy, and tried their best to pretend it was just a normal night. 

At some point it became obvious that neither of them wanted to go to sleep, exhausted though they both were. And because they were both adults, trained and armed, neither could admit to being spooked by what they had been through that day. Instead, they stayed up talking until they both fell asleep on Ceirin’s bed. 

With all the lanterns still lit.


	26. Chapter 26

By the time Teldryn woke, the lanterns had all burned out. The house was quiet. Sunlight angled through dust motes to warm a spot on the wall in the kitchen, illuminating the stack of dirty dishes they’d left out. Judging from the angle of the light, it was late in the afternoon.|

He turned to watch Ceirin sleep, expression peaceful despite the nicks, cuts, and half healed bruises. The healers had concentrated on the major injuries, leaving the small things to repair themselves. Both mer would be wearing visible souvenirs from this last awful adventure for the next week, at least, before they faded away or formed new scars. 

They were safe. No matter the horror of the previous day or the nightmares that had plagued his rest. He couldn’t get past the memory of Ceirin on the ground with the vampire on top of him. Running as fast as he could and thinking he’d be too late. After all that, peace and quiet felt like no small blessing. 

Now, watching the altmer sleep, reassuring himself that all was well, the spellsword was struck by how strangely perfect moments like this could be. His throat tightened. Three words rose up from deep inside to press against the roof of his mouth, fragile as moth wings. He couldn’t say it. 

He reached out and brushed the backs of his fingers over Ceirin’s olive toned cheek, where the summer sun had brought out a dusting of barely- there freckles.

Gold eyes, sleepy and unfocused, blinked open. Teldryn fought the immediate urge to pull his hand back, to pretend it all away, to protect himself. Swallowing down his fear, he held still and waited. Ceirin made no move to push him away. 

The two stared at each other for a moment, cautious and on new ground. 

Teldryn stretched his hand out, trailing fingertips down over the stubbled jaw to rest his hand lightly against the altmer’s throat, over the reddish, painful looking bite mark. He let a bit of magicka flare up into a healing spell, hand warming with the energy spent. It was a recent spell for him and it flickered out right away, but maybe it had helped. When he tilted his palm up to check, the bite did look a bit better. 

Ceirin hadn’t taken his eyes off him the entire time.

He moved closer and couldn’t miss how the altmer’s pupils widened, black spreading out to darken his gaze. It wasn’t until he felt Ceirin’s hand settle around his wrist that he moved in for the kiss, brushing his lips lightly across. It was slow and gentle and set his pulse to racing. He gave the altmer room to back away if he wanted to. As soon as it ended, he drew back to see Ceirin squinting at him.

“…You said you weren’t interested.”

“What? When?” It sounded familiar...

“I… heard you talking to Sapphire, after my birthday. The window was open.” 

Teldryn felt as if his stomach had just dropped through the bed and onto the floor. Face burning, his thoughts raced as he tried to recall what exactly he had said that day. 

“You s’wit! Why didn’t you say something?” He shoved at Ceirin’s shoulder, trying to cover up his embarrassment with humor. It was a weak attempt.

“What good would have come of that?” Ceirin’s frown deepened. “I had no idea what to say… or do. There was Valindor and I thought I had missed the chance. Then I overheard that and I thought I had never had one to begin with…and that maybe it was for the best because I didn’t like how you were towards him… after. And I don’t remember kissing you.”

Teldryn dropped his head back to the pillow with a long sigh. 

Gods. No wonder they had fought about how he’d pushed the bosmer away. It must have hurt to witness that. The rogue had even said as much, hadn’t he? _‘The rejection’…_

The spellsword squeezed his eyes shut as he realized he couldn’t have screwed this up much worse if he’d tried. 

“I only told her that …I wasn’t ready to say it. Especially _not_ to someone you work with.” Mortified, the spellsword struggled to explain. 

“The relationships I’ve had, the longer ones, all just…fell apart. I got tired of being hurt, of spending all that time building something for the future only to have it fail. Either they left or I did. So I gave up. It’s easier when you both leave. There’s nothing to break up.”

“And then… I got tired of _that_. I thought with Valindor, maybe, I could get past it. He was nice; we had some drinks and shared a few laughs. We had some things in common. But I knew right after that it had been a mistake.” Teldryn shook his head and rubbed at his bandaged arm. “You were right. I was unfair to him. Maybe he wouldn’t have…”

“Wouldn’t have what? Attacked you? Not your fault. If you hadn’t confronted him when you did, more people might have been hurt before anyone knew he was a danger.” 

Ceirin’s quiet reassurance somehow made him feel worse. He managed a nod before continuing, determined to finish the conversation now that it was underway. 

“I never want to make you uncomfortable. I don’t want to do anything to jeopardize our friendship. If we ever couldn’t do this; travel together or drink and talk or any of it…I don’t want that to change.” He finished the last in a rush.

“Except, it already has changed. We’re not friends, exactly, anymore. Are we?” Ceirin chewed his lip.

“No. I suppose not.” 

“Are you going to leave?”

“Do you want me to?” Teldryn’s eyes went wide in alarm. His stomach clenched at the idea of packing up his things and moving to the Inn after all this.

“No.” 

The spellsword let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Good.” His throat felt a little less tight.

“So…if….do you want to…could we try… being… whatever this is now?” 

He almost laughed at Ceirin’s awkwardness. There was something so endearing about the rogue’s hopeful stumbling that, combined with the spellsword’s own sense of relief, had the corners of his mouth tugging upward. For all the rogue’s confidence, charm, and social graces, he could be quite insecure sometimes. The spellsword managed a suitably solemn answer.

“Sure. We can do that.”

“If it’s alright, can we… try this slow?” Ceirin looked away, uncertain.

“Slow is fine by me.” That time Teldryn did smile. It wasn’t his usual speed but he hadn’t been in a committed relationship in a long while; it would be good to take the extra time to adjust. To give this a chance. To give Ceirin the pace he needed to be comfortable. He shifted to lie back, keeping his posture inviting but non aggressive. His ploy worked, the altmer moved to lean over him.

That kiss started out hesitant and shy until all at once, like a dam breaking, it wasn’t. Teldryn wondered how long Ceirin had held back or how many times in the past he might’ve been pushed away because that kiss felt like it had all the altmer’s heart and soul behind it. The possessive surge of triumph he felt at being the one person the altmer hadn’t shied away from had him trying his utmost to take those three words clinging stubbornly to roof of his mouth and press them into Ceirin; to tell him without words that this was more than okay. 

They broke apart before ‘slow’ went right out the window.

There was a brief moment when he thought Ceirin might kiss him again. Instead the rogue scooted down a bit in the bed until he could rest his head against Teldryn’s chest, an arm wrapped around the spellsword’s waist. 

Bemused and mildly surprised by how comfortable it was to have the larger mer tucked under his chin like that, the spellsword wrapped his arm over the broad shoulders and moved his free hand up to finger comb through the getting-too-long hair. 

_Saved the world. Slays dragons. And… likes to cuddle?_

Another disparate puzzle piece for him to try and fit into what he knew about the altmer. 

Teldryn had never been one for cuddling. It seemed too needy, too pointless. Too much stillness and after not very long he would want to get up and go do anything else before his limbs all went numb. But there was a soothing aspect to this that he had never noticed before. 

He was still pondering the significance of that when he realized Ceirin had fallen back asleep, breathing slow and even, lulled by the sound of his heart. The spellsword stayed where he was and watched the patch of sunlight shift across the wall as the afternoon wore on.

_Well, it wasn’t as if they had made plans for the day…_

In any case, there was no place else he would rather be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too happy with how this chapter turned out. It was difficult to write for some reason and I still can’t pinpoint exactly what’s bothering me about it…so no amount of editing would ‘fix’ it and I didn’t want to rewrite forever…   
>  And if Ceirin and Teldryn had a theme song it would be Skulls by Bastille.  
> Thanks for reading!


	27. Chapter 27

“Did you know it was here?” Teldryn shaded his eyes from the midmorning sun and peered at his… _companion?_ No. _Lover?_ Not yet. _Partner?_ That was closest, but it sounded too much like business for him to be comfortable with it. He had been trying all morning to think of some word, or way, to describe what the rogue was to him now. 

Ceirin shook his head, eyes gleaming as he looked up at the massive stone arch framed by sky and high enough up that it would take a good part of the rest of the day to reach it, at least.

They were hiking south of Riften. At the top of an outcropping of rock just past the Snow-Shod’s farm, they had spotted the ruins; up in the mountains, overlooking the valley. That large arch, so emblematic of first era architecture, might not have been visible except for the weather. This far south, the higher elevations were usually veiled in mist or cloud cover. But early fall storms had whipped through, the wind pulling leaves off the branches and clearing away clouds. 

After several days of being cooped up inside reading, mending gear, or working on alchemy while it had poured rain, both mer had been more than ready to make their own adventure out of a day outdoors. 

Now, it was looking like they wouldn’t need to. 

On their way to the base of the cliffs, looking for a stairway that Ceirin insisted would exist, they spotted something else. The noise of their chatter spooked a black legged deer, who took off running right up over what a casual observer might mistake for a hill. A perfectly round, rock- ringed hill.

Ceirin was headed off towards it before Teldryn could even ask. Upon reaching the top, they spent long moments staring into the scooped out bowl. 

“What is this?” Teldryn finally had to ask. It was man- made, but he couldn’t guess the purpose. It didn’t seem to be a ruin or tomb of any kind. It wasn’t magical. It was just a big bowl of dirt in the middle of the woods.

“They’re called dragon mounds. They’re where the dragons are buried.” Ceirin explained softly. He had a look in his eyes, almost reverent. “You can find them all over Skyrim.”

“Someone’s been digging in this one.” Teldryn couldn’t suppress the shiver that went down his spine. He took a step back so he was no longer standing in it. Where were the all bones? And yet the dirt from this was flung in wide arcs out in all directions. No wagon tracks…

“No.” Ceirin shook his head again and turned to look Teldryn dead in the eye, with that strange expression he got whenever dragons where involved. “Someone woke up.”

He craned to look back and up towards the ruins. “And I think I know right where to find him”  
They found the stairs, hidden from the trail behind a small stand of birch. As they hiked up, Ceirin explained about Alduin resurrecting the old dragons around Skyrim. The spellsword could only shake his head in wonder at some of the things the rogue had lived through. He still couldn’t quite believe it all. Even though he knew Ceirin wasn’t lying.

They stopped on one of the landings about midway up to eat lunch. From that height the whole of the Rift valley spread out below them in the sunlight. Forests of maple and birch and ash ringed the lake; golden in the sunlight. Outside the city limits, neat plots of farmland were laid out in grids. 

To the north, the road went winding out of sight with mountains along all horizons; edged in dark evergreens. 

Wood smoke rose from the chimneys in Riften to hang in a blue gray haze over the city. The larger boats on the lake were nothing more than dark specks at this distance. Teldryn could just make out an old imperial fort on the far bank; its square outline cast a long shadow down the hill it sat atop. 

Along the road, people could be seen moving about like tiny ants. 

And here they were, munching cold chicken with bread and cheese and drinking ale like they weren’t about to walk up a flight of stairs to face a dragon… 

He took comfort in the fact that if the dragon were active this close to people, someone would have noticed it by now. 

They packed up when they were finished, left the crumbs for the birds, and continued up the stairs. An hour later and several more landings up, they saw the first signs of charring. Something had left a burnt greasy smear across the rocks.

“Fire breather.” Ceirin kept his voice down. 

Teldryn nodded and made sure his sword was loose in its sheath.

A single trap was set up on the last landing. A soul gem rigged to shoot lightning. It reminded Teldryn of the first ruin they’d ever cleared together. 

“No shield this time.” He muttered, looking around for ideas. 

Ceirin gestured for him to wait. Then the rogue snuck around the side and rolled right up behind the trap, reaching around to pluck the gem out of the holder. Once it was safely disarmed and pocketed, he made his way to the top of the steps, peeking over to see what, if anything, they were approaching.

Teldryn knew the dragon was there when Ceirin ducked back down in a hurry. The altmer popped up for another look, then turned, and motioning for silence, beckoned Teldryn to join him. Keeping low to the ground, Teldryn moved up until he was stretched uncomfortably against the steps next to the rogue. 

“I think it’s asleep.” 

Both mer looked. 

Teldryn couldn’t see it, at first. The dragon was similar in color to the stone surrounding it, blending in. It wasn’t until Ceirin pointed out the curve of its neck and the wing spread out to soak in the warmth of the sun that he realized the beast was draped over the top of one of those massive curved walls where Ceirin found his dragon words. The wall blocked their view of its head. It also blocked the dragon’s view of them.

By the time it caught their scent, they were almost upon it. 

The fight was furious. 

Once airborne, the dragon was fast and utterly indignant that they had interrupted its nap. Flames rushed down at them, charring the stone platform and razing what few scraggly plants managed to grow at this elevation to cinders. Ceirin peppered it with arrows while Teldryn slung ice spells at it. Blood spattered down like macabre rain. Their armor smoked from the heat, despite their frantic evasions.

It was still in the air when one of Ceirin’s shots hit the wing joint, forcing it to land. 

The fight turned to sword work after that. They moved in tandem to keep the great lizard distracted. Whenever it would snap at one, the other would try to lunge in and strike. All while dodging fire and teeth, feet, wings, and tail. Teldryn got the killing blow when it lifted its head to scream. One step in, a neat cut angled up under its jaw and by luck, he struck a vein. 

He caught the altmer in a triumphant kiss over the unmoving body. 

Then the whole thing went up in flames. 

Jumping back, the spellsword chided himself on getting so caught up in the moment that he had forgotten who, or rather, _what_ he was traveling with. He waited, one hand shielding his eyes from the blaze, as the soul wound up and lashed out towards the altmer, who stood braced to accept it. When it was over, Ceirin’s teeth were bared in a snarl. 

When the moment had passed and things had quieted down, they took stock of things. 

“Glover is going to kill me.” Teldryn groaned. His armor was filthy and starting to chip around the edges. Riften’s smith was decent, but had no idea what to do with chitin. Teldryn had been doing patch work repairs on his own from a kit, but it didn’t hold up the same way.

“So write to him. Or we could go back.” Ceirin was checking over his own gear. 

“If we’re going up north, could we maybe head to that dwemer ruin on the way back?” 

“If we do, we better go before winter. Let’s see what extra riches will get us, shall we?”

They took the time to explore the platform. Burned bones littered the area, remnants of the dragon’s meals.

Teldryn felt the pull of the magic in the wall as Ceirin approached and learned a new word. They cracked open an ancient weather rusted chest and recovered quite a few valuables. 

“Hiking with you always turns out to be so lucrative.” Teldryn grinned and stashed a bag of gems into his pack. “We should do this more often.” 

“Teldryn? I don’t suppose you want to go hiking again tomorrow?” 

Something in the rogue’s voice made him turn to see what was going on. He followed Ceirin’s gaze to where the altmer was staring out across the valley….

To an even larger ruin higher up on the peak opposite them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a portrait I had commissioned of Ceirin:  
> http://caffeinatedmusing.tumblr.com/post/140863343783/i-commission-the-talented-xla-hainex-for-this


	28. Chapter 28

It was late when the two mer trudged back through the gate. Most of the high they had felt in the aftermath of the dragon fight had long since been walked off on the way home. Instead of celebrating, food and sleep now held priority. They swung through the Inn doors, hoping to still be in time to get some dinner.

Brynjolf, Delvin, and a few others were there, as a change of pace from the Flagon and in order to get a little business done topside. At the moment that meant finishing up a card game. Stacks of coins showed they had been playing for rather high stakes. 

After getting their order in, the two mer headed over to a table nearby.

“Where have you two been? Haven’t you heard?” Delvin skipped the pleasantries. He must have lost a fair amount tonight to be so short tempered.

“Heard what?” 

“There’s been a dragon sighting south of the Snow-Shods’ place. The Jarl put out a bounty this afternoon. She even sent for the Dragonborn.” Bolli spoke up from across the table.

“….She…what?” Ceirin asked, his voice faint.

“Well, Maven don’t mess around. She wants this thing dead and she’s willing to pay to make sure it’s done permanent.” Delvin looked back to packing up his cards.

“She owns land out that way, is what.” Another player scoffed, scooping up his take on his way out.

“Anyone with a blade can fight it, but the Dragonborn’s the only one who can make sure it doesn’t come back again, or so the stories go.” Bolli kept talking, mostly to himself, as he put his coat and hat on. 

“This is out of my area of expertise. You lads, on the other hand, might be interested.” Brynjolf held out a copy of the notice.

Ceirin stared at the parchment as if it might bite him. Teldryn took the sheet. He snorted when he saw the offer. _We probably got more out of that old chest…_

The doors to the Inn banged open and a courier strode in. He looked around a moment and then headed straight for them. Or more specifically, straight for Ceirin.

“Sir? I have a message here for you….it’s from the Jarl. It’s marked urgent. Something about a dragon?” The courier waved and left as rushed as he’d arrived. 

“Have a nice evening.”

The Inn doors banged shut and left Ceirin frozen in the middle of the common room with his mouth hanging open, a shade paler, and holding the notice the Jarl had sent to the Dragonborn while being stared at by several expectant people. 

Teldryn waited for the outcry. When none came, he realized they couldn’t see the title on the address line, not the way Ceirin was holding it. 

“Ah, I see Maven thought so, too. She sent you a copy.” Brynjolf stopped on his way to the door. “Let me know if you end up going. I can put out a word to a few of our buyers. Dragons are supposed to guard a lot of treasure. And that, lads, is my area of expertise. Goodnight.” He waved and followed Bolli and Delvin out.

The two mer were left standing alone beside the now empty table. Teldryn looked at the bounty notice again before tossing it back down onto the table. Turning to Ceirin, he couldn’t resist pointing out the obvious.

“Now, that right there,” He drawled, “would have been the perfect time for you to tell them.”

The expression on Ceirin’s face was something to see. 

Just then, their food arrived, and the topic was switched to something commonplace. Teldryn let it go, too tired and hungry to keep after the rogue about it.


	29. Chapter 29

It was the middle of autumn before they finally made the trek up north to the Dwemer ruins Teldryn had picked out on their first week back. The nights in Riften had grown cool, the leaves were turning, and the higher elevations were freezing again.

Trudging up the slopes, steps faltered and footing slipped until the steel spikes laced to the bottoms of Teldryn’s boots bit and found purchase. Ceirin wasn’t that far ahead, struggling over a drift. The sun had softened up the ice, slowing their progress. The spellsword pushed his goggles up and stopped to look around. 

The sky was a cloudless vault of deep blue overhead. Both mer wore the dark goggles to protect their eyes from the glare off the snow field, but even with them on, he could see as far as Windhelm and the endless dark horizon of ocean beyond. Birds flew below them. Up here, the world was white and blue and vast, a bowl of nothing but snow and sky. _Skyrim._ He had never understood how fitting the name was until now.

Turning to look ahead, he saw the high Dwemer towers gleaming above them in the sun. They’d be there by sundown. 

Raldthbar made for their last expedition before winter set in and the lowlands and roads around Riften became impassable. High up in the mountains, the site was covered in ice and snow all year. Their packs were filled with cold weather gear. Hauling the extra weight up the mountain made the spellsword’s back and knees ache, but he couldn’t say he was sorry. The thicker bedrolls, extra tarps, rope, food, and medicines, all meant they stood a better chance of success. He and Ceirin might argue sometimes, but they both agreed on one vital point; treasure was only fun to acquire if you lived to spend it.

Teldryn had plans to spend his first winter in Riften hibernating on a bed of gold and gems like a dragon.

As they hiked up the high slopes to their destination, the spellsword passed the time imagining what he might find here; wealth, weapons and armor, maybe some as- yet- unknown Dwemer invention…It promised to be one of their greater hauls.

The last glow of the setting sun was blazing orange full on the towers when the two mer stopped to draw their weapons at the base of the flight of stairs that led up to the entrance. Bandits had taken to sheltering in the ruins, far from the reach of any guardsmen. 

He and Ceirin had seen the warrants when they had stopped at the last Inn before heading up into the wilderness. These outlaws had the advantage; they knew the layout and they had no doubt seen the two adventurers approaching. They’d had time to prepare. 

So the two mer had deliberately waited to time their arrival to sunset. With the light in their eyes, the bandits hadn’t been able to shoot them on their way up. 

Teldryn summoned a flame atronach and let it race up the stairs ahead of them to draw attention. Then, he and Ceirin charged, fighting their way to the door.

The fight didn’t last as long as anticipated. Once routed, the outlaws lost coordination on their attacks and fell, defeated.

Indoors, the temperature was much higher. Several makeshift fire pits showed where the bandits had been camping in and amongst the ruins. A dwemer flame trap blocked one path, so they took the other, finding and killing the bandit leader along the way.

What they found when they continued their exploration were the remains of workshops and living quarters. Benches, tables, pieces of metal cut and left out in an assembly line for building those automatons that still lurked in the hallways. 

Dwemer metal was high quality, and would fetch excellent prices, but they left it for the time being. It was too heavy to start off with first thing.

The extra lockpicks Ceirin had brought were put to good use, opening gates, storage rooms, and chests. He handed some to Teldryn and got him to working open a few of the easier sets.

Now that they were indoors and sheltered from the bitter cold, Teldryn was in a fine mood. This excursion had been built on months of planning and anticipation. He could almost smell the wealth here, carried in the air along with the stale odors of oil, rusty metal, and cold stone. 

He grinned as Ceirin popped open the gate to a cabinet and held up a fist sized chunk of gold ore. No wonder the outlaws had been looking to settle in here. A prize like that could have kept them all comfortably out of reach of the law for years to come. And this was just the first floor. They packed everything that they might want to take with them into one cabinet and relocked it, meaning to stop back on the way out.

After moving the bodies out into the snow, they headed deeper into the ruins, wrecking the active constructs back into scrap along the way. 

“Do you think we could bring one back and use it as a training dummy? All we’d need is some soul gems…” Ceirin eyed a downed automaton. 

The spellsword grinned at the idea of the construct getting loose and terrorizing Riften.

“Too easy. Plus I don’t want to carry it. Give it to your thieves- in- training if you have to have it.” 

Their laughter echoed down the empty stone corridor.

The excitement faded some when they got to a blade trap that Ceirin couldn’t disarm. It took a few tries, but they managed to pile pieces of broken masonry and rubble around the blades, jamming them. Hopping over, they continued on. 

To a fire trap. 

And then a strange sort of pressure trap that pushed sections of pipe out to block them while Dwarven Spheres and the little scavengers known as spiders rolled out to defend whatever lay beyond. Scraped, singed, and wary, the two mer proceeded to take the lift down into the ruins below.

Teldryn cast a magelight when they got to the bottom. The hallway before them was dark. While the upper sections had still been powered by whatever strange steam engine contraption kept the place running, this level had been cut off. 

Or not. 

In the pale mage light, they heard the trap go off as they moved towards the door. Ceirin pushed the spellsword ahead of him, hoping to outrun the blades. He swore just as they reached the end, one leg bloodied by a deep gash. 

Resting at the end of the hall, they took the time to clean and bandage the cut as well as to eat. The door wasn’t much protection against whatever might lay beyond, but it was better than nothing. They dug out their torches. Packs tightened, rested and ready, they pushed the doors open…

And caught the sour odor they both recognized; Falmer.

An encampment of the vile creatures was set up over the fallen debris that marked this level. Teldryn wondered if they were the reason this area no longer had any light. The blind wretches seemed to recoil from their torchlight as they fought through. They sent the odd tents and enclosures up in flames as they passed. 

The burning camp did nothing to improve the smell, although it did make them feel safer, providing heat and light but fewer places for the falmer to hide.

Teldryn crouched to examine the odd mask one wore. Multiple spots around the area where the eyes would normally be gave it a spider like appearance.

“Do they think they are bugs?” 

Ceirin looked over.

“I don’t know. Whatever they think, I’m not sure it matters anymore.”

They continued to explore the space; columns that rose impressively high to disappear into the dark above them, the remains of a fountain, and stonework that, where it was still undamaged, would have made any mason envious.

Flames lit up a series of walkways curving up above. They headed onwards.

The Dwemer had carved quite the citadel out of the inside of the mountain. Towers, walks, and plazas were all still recognizable, even where they were collapsed beyond use or access. 

Falmer nests littered the area. Teldryn set a storm atronach loose ahead of them. Partly to stir the creatures up so they were easier to spot, and partly in the hopes that the lightning would clear the stench a bit.

They eventually passed back into areas not taken over by falmer, but where the dwarven creations still roamed hallways of inconsistent light and hissing steam. 

The spellsword was just grateful to be back in a section where the lights still worked. At least he was, until they came to a control room, with switches and gates still in operation. It took a bit of trial and error and flattening themselves to the floor or against the walls while traps went off in the room around them, but they managed to work out the combination that opened the way to a courtyard. 

Further in and they were back to fighting falmer. Even further and they opened a bridge to a Centurion. Teldryn had seen sketches of them in books, but he wasn’t prepared for how big it was in reality. Steam hissed and gears ground, screeching, as the behemoth came to life and started towards them. They let it come to the end of the narrow bridge. It gave them room to move while it restricted the thing, which was slow after so many centuries in the damp. 

Ceirin tried to keep it busy while Teldryn hit the joints and the core with lightning and got hit in return. Nothing broken, but his shoulder was badly bruised and would be weak for a while. He had just about run out of magicka when the core overloaded and the giant construct crashed to the floor. 

Ceirin made sure to pry the core out of its socket. Neither mer wanted to take the chance that it might get back up. 

What it had been set up to guard was an entrance. A lever sent a spiral staircase grinding open. They checked the side rooms, found a few pocketable valuables, and then pushed through the next set of doors.

Only to stop and stare, mouths slack in awe. 

Standing on a balcony, high up over a series of waterfalls, they took in the view. Lit by an eerie glow from subterranean fungus, _an entire other Dwemer city_ stretched away into the cavernous dark. This wasn’t part of Raldbthar, not anymore. 

“…Is this…are we….? Teldryn turned to look at Ceirin, eyes wide and tinted black in the odd turquoise light.

“…Blackreach.” The altmer’s voice was a low whisper. He slung his pack off his shoulders and went to work digging through it to find the books they’d brought along. During their research, they had found only brief mention of this place in one book by one explorer, now long dead. 

It had gone unmapped, and almost unknown. Most importantly, it had never been capitalized on.

Teldryn let out a shout of triumph. He spun around, giddy with the thrill of discovery. 

“I take it back.” He was laughing. “I thought the Crown was the best thing we ever found. But it’s this! It’s this!” 

Grinning like a maniac, he grabbed the book out of Ceirin’s hands, and kissed him.

They spent days exploring. 

Blackreach had a lot of unique things to be recorded and they packed up samples of the fungus, soil, and even the water to take back with them. Remains of quite a lot of mineral wealth lay scattered all about the grounds. They got into an argument about whether or not it could be aetherium, which Teldryn thought it must be and Ceirin doubted even existed. 

There was a giant wandering around that had gotten in somehow, but it was large enough to see coming. They killed or avoided the Falmer living in the ruins. Teldryn wrote notes about all of it in a journal he had brought along in the evenings when they camped in a small outbuilding that allowed for some defensibility.

Several days in, however, the novelty began to wear off as the ever present darkness began to wear on them both. They called it enough and headed back up.

Only when they got back to the surface did they realize they had taken the wrong lift up and that they would need to hike all the way back around to get the loot they had left locked in the storage closet. That inconvenience wasn’t enough to dim their spirits.

Even the weather had held, and the sunlight dazzling off the snow was a welcome sight to both mer. It seemed an omen; good things were coming to them and fame and fortune would be theirs.


	30. Chapter 30

The birdsong had gone silent. 

As they crested the hill, they saw the smoke drifting up from beyond the tree line.

An unmistakable roar echoed out across the valley. 

Looking around, Ceirin spotted an old fallen tree, hollowed underneath and reeking of loam. They shoved their packs into the protected space out of view of passersby. Scrambling back up to the road, both mer broke into a dead run, weapons clutched tightly. They tore down the hill, down the road, towards the gate. 

On the way, a man on horseback flew past them at a gallop, heading in the opposite direction. 

Shouts and screams began to reach their ears. Choking on the acrid haze, eyes stinging, they stumbled into groups of people outside the gates. Some were injured. Some just milled around, aimless and in shock. Others rushed about or stood in groups, calling out for those they knew, or on the gods.

All eyes were raised to the sky over the town.

Just outside the gate, obscured from moment to moment by drifting smoke, they found Thrynn and Vipir helping people get clear. 

“Where are Brynjolf and the rest?” Ceirin had to shout to be heard over the cries and the ominous thrumming rush and crackle of burning buildings. His voice sounded thick, his accent heavier than Teldryn had ever heard it. No. Not an accent, although it was that too. The thu’um. 

“He was in the market with Niruin and Ton!” Vipir’s eyes were wide as he pointed back into the thickest part of the smoke.

People flinched and ducked as the sound of something immense rushed by overhead. Only the barest hint of shadow could be discerned through the smoke, moving fast. 

A moment later, Niruin himself staggered out through the gate, coughing and turning about to get his bearings. He had his bow in his hands, the string burnt and snapped. Ceirin grabbed him and shoved his own ebony bow against the dazed bosmer’s chest, pushing until the wood elf reached his hands up to grasp it, setting aside his useless one. Once a weapon was in his hands again he seemed to come back to himself some. 

“If you have a shot, take it.” Ceirin passed him the arrows.

“It’s a dragon.” Niruin choked out, shaking his head. “We can’t kill that.” 

“I can.” 

The bosmer archer opened his mouth to protest just as Ceirin turned towards the gate and shouted three immense words. The power in them rolled out and the smoke swirled away. So did some of the lower layers of cloud cover. 

People stared, uncomprehending.

Riften was left exposed, flames guttering. 

The rogue and the spellsword walked in together, weapons drawn, debris crunching underfoot. 

Past the first houses and Teldryn could see the bodies. A few still moved, people having fallen or dropped low to crawl beneath the smoke. Brynjolf’s red hair was easy to spot on their way towards the center. He had thrown himself over Tonilia, sheltered by the low wall around the market. 

Trying to keep an eye out for the dragon, Teldryn rushed forward and dropped next to the thieves. Up close he could see they were both alive. Bloodied and singed, but alive. 

“You lads got back just in time.” The master thief’s voice was rough from the heat and smoke.

“Get outside the gate.” 

They didn’t need to be told twice. Leaning on each other, they scrambled up and staggered off, Brynjolf keeping an arm tucked close to his body. A large shape emerged near the gate to toss Tonilia a blade; Maul, his brother Dirge not far behind him. Apparently, they’d kept close to the wall on their way around. They were covered in enough soot to suggest they’d been kicking in doors to get people out of the burning buildings.

People closer to the shore were beginning a bucket brigade under the direction of the blacksmith. Several buildings were ablaze. As he watched, a whole section of the Fishery’s roof crumbled and fell into the lake with a squealing hiss and fresh gouts of steam. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the door to the orphanage crack open and the young woman in charge there begin to usher the children out towards the Keep only to find the door barred. 

Maven, as usual, was looking out for herself at the expense of everyone else.

Then someone started screaming.

The dragon had dropped back down below the cloud level. It was coming in for another pass.

Teldryn popped up out of the cover he’d taken near the low wall to get a look at the lower walkways. People were down there. Several had gone into the canal earlier. 

The deaf old alchemist and his wife were running about with bandages and potions, helping to fish people out of the water. 

The dunmer waved and yelled until he got the attention of that odd girl, their apprentice, to let them know they’d have more incoming. He didn’t wait to get a response. He shouted at the woman to get them into the canal, but she was already moving. The kids were over the railings, splashing into the filthy water below, older kids helping the little ones. She was climbing over when the dragon let loose, heat and flame withering everything in its path. She lost her grip and went into the water with a shriek. 

Teldryn had no more time to worry about it. He flattened himself back into cover to avoid being burned to crisp, himself. _He could hear it now….the words hidden under the roar of flame._

“Archers! Now! Bring it down!” Ceirin screamed.

But the guards were still scrambling to get their shots lined up. 

Niruin didn’t hesitate; arrow after arrow found the scaled belly, the wings, the head. The bosmer was unbelievably fast. 

Teldryn held his breath against the searing heat of dragon’s fire as it passed by again, willing each shot to be the one that brought it down. His fingers flexed on the hilt of his blade, sweating inside his gloves. He kept his weight over the balls of his feet, ready to move in the instant it hit dirt.

But the dragon was ancient and canny. It took the hits and turned about, coasting in a lazy loop back out over the lake. As it returned, the sound of it inhaling great lungfuls of air to fuel its next attack made the spellsword shudder. 

Ceirin strode forward until he stood alone in the center of town. His blades were held ready. Flames licked at the edges of his boots as he stepped over bits of debris and reflected off his ebony weapons. The firelight upon his face made his eyes appear molten. His wrath and the lethal intent of his will were now fixed on that one dark shape flying closer. _Dragonborn._

Three words. 

The power in them felt _wrong_ to Teldryn. Dark and twisted. No other shout Ceirin had ever used had felt like that.

The dragon screamed, the pained sound tearing at the very air. It tried to rear back, its graceful approach ruined. Plummeting, it came in to crash. 

Straight towards Ceirin.

Teldryn yelled. He could hear Brynjolf and others as well. Screaming at the altmer to _move_ , to _get out of the way_ , to _look out_. 

Ceirin didn’t move.

In the moment of impact Teldryn had a crazy flash of the dragon striking on its chin, all bunched up with its body still airborne, with Ceirin in the air just ahead of it, before the spellsword was flung away in a wave of heat and dirt and noise. Kicking and scrambling, he fought to get free of it. He choked, gagged, and spit out dirt.

The dragon plowed a trench clear across the town and almost all the way back to the gate. Boards and bricks were ripped up and tossed aside like toys. Heaps of rich smelling earth and smoking pieces of wreckage piled up against the houses. A balcony sagged were its support beams had cracked.

_Where was Ceirin?_

Teldryn caught sight of him when the dust cleared, attacking the nose. He realized Ceirin must have jumped up onto the dragons head and ridden it back until it stopped, to avoid being crushed under it. 

Guards and armed members of the crowd came pressing forward to join in. He saw Tonilia wade in, her dark face set in determination. 

The spellsword rushed to hit the back leg. His ebony blade sliced between scales and came away wet with blood. He kept at it, aware that arrows were still hitting, some bouncing away or skidding off at odd angles all around him.

The tail lashed out, knocking his legs out from under him. He rolled back and came up to his feet in time to see Ceirin take the killing blow, stabbing one of his blades down straight between the creature’s eyes.

_“….Dovakhiin?”_

Teldryn stopped in his tracks. He had never heard one speak before. Not in anything he had recognized as language, anyway, although Ceirin had insisted they could. But that…that had been a word! The ancient reptile had sounded… dismayed?!

By the time Teldryn’s shock had worn off, the body was ablaze, scales flaking and lifting away in a rushing white hot current that sought the Dragonborn. The spellsword watched as the energy, the essence of the great beast, flew into his altmer companion. As many times as he witnessed it, he still couldn’t get over it. 

When the spectacle had faded, Ceirin stood still leaning on the sword embedded in the dragon’s skull. Teldryn placed himself between the altmer and the gathering crowd, knowing better than to get too close. He gave Ceirin the time and space he needed to regain himself.

Tonilia had dropped her blade. Niruin stared, his knuckles light where they gripped the borrowed bow. Brynjolf kept shaking his head very slightly from side to side as if trying to clear his vision. All through the gathered crowd, hands were up over mouths, or rubbed at eyes in disbelief.

“Did you see it?”

“How did he do that?!”

“…Lad?”

“Is it dead?”

“By the Gods…You….You’re the Dragonborn!” 

Teldryn didn’t see who said it. But once it was spoken aloud, murmurs of agreement or argument began rising from all sides in awed tones. Everyone started talking at once.

Brynjolf stepped towards Ceirin and Teldryn raised an arm to stop him. The guild’s second in command gave him an incredulous stare.

“You _knew_.” The accusation in his tone was unmistakable.

Teldryn inclined his head a bit but said nothing. He didn’t want a fight. Behind him, Ceirin had moved to pull his sword free of the skull, his actions slow and exaggerated from fatigue.

“Stand down, Bryn. It was my choice not to tell you. ” The altmer directed a nod of his head at Brynjolf’s broken arm. “Get that seen to, will you?”

The spellsword stepped back, allowing Ceirin to close the space to the rest of them.

With a gesture Ceirin had his people gathered. They didn’t hesitate. After the huddle, the thieves all separated, heading off in different directions. He spoke to Brynjolf a while longer before the red haired nord left too. Within seconds, they had all vanished, blending into the flickering smoky light. 

The next hours were devoted to triage. Without the Jarl having made any appearance, a woman named Mjoll had taken the lead and Ceirin stepped back and supported her as she gave orders and assignments to everyone able to work. The fires were being put out. People with homes still standing rushed to get food, extra clothes, blankets, and sundries for those whose homes had burned. Tents were being set up. Farmers were offering up loft and barn spaces. The temple opened its doors to the injured. Someone started a list for the names of anyone missing. Bodies were compared against it, identified, and set for burial. Workers came with carts and began to haul away the debris. 

The dragon bones were picked over even before the skeleton was cleared out of the way, but it was agreed that the skull should go to the Dragonborn. 

At some point, Teldryn noticed a curtain in one of the keep windows shift aside. Jarl Blackbriar had been watching them. He knew also that Ceirin would keep going until he dropped, so after a few words to Mjoll, he led the rogue away. 

The two mer headed over to survey the damage to their own house. 

The chickens had scattered… or possibly died. The spellsword mused over the pang he felt at not being greeted by the pesky, underfoot, food seeking birds. He hoped they’d flown out of danger. The garden looked wilted from the heat. The roof and the walls were sooty and a bit charred, but they had been spared any real damage. Heading inside, they found everything as they had left it.

Their packs had even been returned, a few of the unscathed thieves having made the run back up the road to fetch them. _Thank Azura for small favors._

Teldryn grabbed them and headed downstairs to set them out of the way. They had bigger things to worry about then unpacking tonight. When he came back up he had a bottle of aged Imperial whiskey they’d been saving. 

Ceirin nodded when he saw the selection. 

Neither mer had ever been less in the mood for a fire, so they rummaged through the cabinets for the cold leftovers. Once they had washed up and eaten, they set to drinking, handing the bottle back and forth across the table; one familiar routine in a day of chaos. 

“So I guess everyone knows now.” Ceirin sighed and propped his now bootless feet up on the edge of the hearth, leaning his head as he exhaled, breath lifting some stray hair away from his face. 

The spellsword made an _hmm_ sound in agreement, mouth full of the oaky flavor of the whiskey. 

“Are they angry with you?” He asked once he had swallowed.

“I offered to resign. They’re going to discuss it once everyone is accounted for. We’ll have a meeting to put it to a vote tomorrow morning. ” 

“Why?!” 

“The guild needs secrecy. And being Dragonborn is not secretive. It’s political and it’s social and historically, sometimes even military. I don’t want to expose them to more public scrutiny than they’re willing to face.”

Teldryn sat stunned. He had understood there would be repercussions, but he had always assumed Ceirin’s reasons for hiding his nature were largely personal. He hadn’t considered the wider implications.

“You didn’t tell them because…it was your way of protecting them?”

The altmer nodded. He handed the bottle over. 

“I hope they keep you.” 

Ceirin’s gold eyes widened. “You hate that I’m a criminal.”

“I worry.” The mercenary corrected, “And…I hate being left behind. But I know how important it is to you.”

“What are you going to do about the Jarl?” He changed the subject, taking another pull. He closed his eyes and savored the smooth heat of the alcohol as it spread down his throat and into his belly while he waited for the altmer to respond.

“She should have been out there. Half the guards were holed up in there with her.” Ceirin shook his head, anger clouding his face. “We’ll have to put together a trial for her. Assuming she hasn’t run.” 

Teldryn agreed. 

They drank while the silence stretched out around them.

The spellsword watched Ceirin stare into the empty hearth. Now, in the exhaustion and the aftermath, there was something forlorn and almost broken in the altmers expression. He recalled how, after the final battle against Miraak, the rogue had blamed himself. 

At the time, friendship and a lot of well-intentioned teasing had been enough to pull him out of it after a couple of days. What could he do now to break Ceirin out of the headspace he was falling into? 

He could think of only one thing.

Teldryn stood and moved to lean over the rogue, kissing him and pulling the bottle out of his hand. He set it back on the table. 

“Ceirin?”

“…What?” 

“Will you let me take you to bed?” 

He waited until Ceirin nodded before taking the altmers hands , helping him up out of the chair and leading him to the bed.

It was the last they spoke of serious matters that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always have music while I write; I listened to stuff like Unscathed, by Full Tilt, Redux by Xtortion Audio, and Black Blade by TSFH for the dragon fight. I wanted Ceirin’s ‘outing’ as the DB to be as badass as possible.   
> I’ve never had a dragon attack the city of Riften in my games, only ever outside in the fields or woods nearby. The idea to have one hit the city (crappy town made of wood, how could I not?!) was inspired by JRR Tolkien’s The Hobbit (Smaug vs Laketown) and by this piece of Skyrim concept art:  
> http://www.uesp.net/wiki/File:SR-concept-Dragon_in_the_Rift.jpg  
> So, only two more chapters to go.  
> And as always- Thanks for reading!


	31. Chapter 31

Ceirin sat, fidgeting, at the head of the loosely clustered island of tables that had been pulled together in the Flagon for the purpose of their meeting. Rogues and thieves all around slouched in chairs or leaned against the walls. Talk flowed back and forth in between yawns. Most of them would much rather have been asleep at this time of morning.

Brynjolf leaned back, elbow on the table, and observed the proceedings while trying to hold back his amusement. It wouldn’t do to turn such a serious event into a joke, but he couldn’t help it. Every time he looked over at Ceirin, he had to fight to keep the smirk off his face. 

The guild master had rushed in almost an hour late, his hair scraped back into an untidy tail. His clothes were mussed, as if he’d thrown them on out of his laundry in a hurry; the boots were unlaced, his shirt inside out. And there were marks on his throat that looked suspiciously like love bites. Unless he missed his guess, Brynjolf was sure he knew who was responsible. Whatever had gone on last night after the dragon had died, their illustrious leader had at least had some fun. 

The red haired Nord sighed and turned his attention to Delvin, seated across from him. He wrapped his knuckles against the table to signal that it was time they got started.

Delvin cleared his throat and when that failed to get attention, he banged a pewter stein on the table; a call to order. 

“Hear now! We got business to discuss.” 

They took a roll call, making certain that all the ranking guild members were present. Delvin went over the previous day’s events for those who had not been present and ended with the resignation offer Ceirin had made. 

“Long and short of it is this: we’ve got to put it to a vote.”

The surrounding crowd of thieves broke into exclamations and muttering. Some of them had been out when the dragon attacked and had returned to see only the wreckage. Others had heard versions told in taverns over too many ales. A few had witnessed it firsthand. 

Brynjolf stood and took the floor. 

“It’s true. What he is, what he can do. This isn’t about what we think of him or whether or not we think he’s been a good guild master. This is about the future of our guild, and our ability to stay in the shadows, that we need to consider.” He sat back down. 

Vekel brought out a large bowl to collect votes and Karliah set out paper and sticks of charcoal. Vex, Bryn and Delvin would tally it up after. Still muttering, thieves began lining up.

Ceirin sat, eyes downcast to the surface of the table, and waited.

Bryn had just leaned over to say something encouraging to the younger thief when Maul made his appearance. 

“You might want to head topside, boss.”

“Why? What’s…” Ceirin’s brows drew together, wrinkling his nose.

“There’s an altmer woman at the Inn, demanding to see you. She’s threatening to make a scene. How do you want I should handle it?”

Ceirin paused and looked to the others.

“Being here is a formality.” Delvin said, “If you need to go, then we can tell you the results later.”

“Trouble?” Brynjolf asked. Not that he could be of much aide, with his sword arm in a sling.

“I haven’t any idea. I wasn’t expecting anyone.” The guild master stood and then looked to Maul again. “Did she give a name?”

The big Nord shifted his shoulders, his expression uncertain.

“Nalarie. She says….she’s your mother?”

Whatever the reaction others had expected from Ceirin over that announcement, it wasn’t the one he had.

His whole body jerked roughly back in midstep. His eyes were too wide. 

“No. I can’t go back. I’m not going back.” He shook his head, backing away. “Who was with her? Did she have anyone with her?” His breathing started in short gasps.

Brynjolf stood and turned to Maul. “Go get that dunmer. And don’t let this woman see you.”

The big Nord was a ghost, he moved so fast to get back up to street level.

“What is it? What should we be expecting?” The red haired thief turned on his protégé-turned-superior.

Ceirin was shaking so badly he couldn’t respond.

“He’s having a panic attack.” Etienne materialized out of the crowd to hand the altmer a glass of watered down brandy. 

“That’s dead useful.” Delvin sneered. “Is it too late to change my vote?”

Vex punched Delvin in the shoulder. Hard. For once, he took the hint and headed over to help Vekel collect votes.

Ceirin managed to glare at the older thief as he walked away but there wasn’t much strength behind it.

By the time Teldryn got there, they had gotten him back into the chair, doubled over with his head held between his knees. 

“What in Oblivion happened?” The spellsword knelt and ran his fingers back over Ceirin’s hair, rubbing his thumbs up and down against the tight cords at the back of the altmer’s neck.

It took a while to get Ceirin calmed down enough to explain the family history. 

His parents had been matched with each other over the expectation of producing children with exceptional magicka levels; the kind of powerful purebred mages the Thalmor were so keen on. When Ceirin’s magicka hadn’t amounted to anything and he had inherited some Nordic traits, revealing shameful impurities in his father’s line that the family had tried to hide, he had become something of a pariah in his own home. They had ignored him. When his baby brother had proven every bit the child prodigy predicted, favoritism had come into play. Despite that and an age difference that spanned over half a century, the brothers had still been close. 

Except that Ceirin was trouble. Stealing to get attention. Goofing off in school. Sneaking out. When Ceirin had gone to the University, his parents had hoped he might finally apply himself. There had been some plan of training him as a soldier or a Justiciar. But he’d done the unforgivable. He’d become political. In opposition to his family’s pro-Thalmor stance.

After bailing him out of jail the last time, his parents had been desperate. They felt he needed more responsibility, more ties to the community, to help him settle down. His short stature, heavier bone structure, poor magicka levels, and worse behavior had resulted in his name being taken off any potential breeding lists before he’d even come of age, but his parents had pulled some strings and found a match for him. 

Faced with the prospect of an arranged marriage, Ceirin had opted to run. He’d packed up in the middle of the night and left without saying goodbye. 

He had trekked around Valenwood for a year or so. Then he’d headed up through Cyrodiil; stealing to get by when he couldn’t find work. Never staying in one place for too long. Until he had ended up in Skyrim. The fear that they might track him down and haul him back had followed him much of the way. Thalmor families didn’t take humiliation well. 

To make matters worse, he’d clashed with the Thalmor here in Skyrim in recent years, so much so that there were warrants posted for his death. 

“You think she waited all these years just to show up now?” Teldryn’s eyebrows rose, sharpening the angle of his tattoos. He had known about the arranged almost- marriage. Including the details Ceirin hadn’t shared. _No wonder he’d panicked._

“I don’t know. I can’t really see her doing it herself? She’d send somebody; soldiers or maybe mercenaries.”

“What does she do that she would have soldiers at her disposal?” Vex and Brynjolf exchanged a look. 

Years back, Etienne had gone missing, only to turn up months later, having been liberated from a Thalmor dungeon by Ceirin. Sometime after, a group of Thalmor had raided the Ratway and killed several people, only to be killed in turn. The guild was not on good or even neutral terms were they were concerned.

“She’s a judge. She sentences the people the Thalmor have arrested. At least, the ones they let have trials.” Ceirin scrubbed his hands up over his face. 

“Well, there’s a starting point for you, then.” Karliah cut in as the voice of reason. “What kind of scenario _would_ put her here personally?”

Ceirin shook his head. “She hardly ever leaves the Summerset Isles.”

“I think it’s high time we went up and asked her.” The spellsword folded his arms over his chest. He wanted this over and done with. Preferably with Ceirin’s mother and any ensuing complications gone by tonight. 

“With some backup, of course.” Brynjolf signaled to a few others to follow them up. “Whatever else, we’re not about to let her grab you.” 

Minutes later, the two mer were crossing Riften’s market plaza, heading for the Inn.


	32. Chapter 32

_“Where is he?”_

No sooner were they through the door and into the room she had rented then she rounded on them, tone demanding. No greeting, no awkwardness over the years they hadn’t spoken or how Ceirin had left. Straight to business with the clear expectation that she would get results.

The spellsword wasn’t sure what he had thought Ceirin’s mother would be like, but this was more than he had guessed. His dislike of her intensified.

“What are you…?”

“Ceirindril, I do not have time for this! I don’t know what you’ve promised these people or how you managed to convince them to support you… or whatever little con game you have going on here. I just need you to _tell me where he is!”_

“Mom, I do not know what you are talking about.” Nerves had the thu’um closer to the surface and the vowel sounds resonated.

His mother didn’t seem to notice it.

The exchange escalated from there into rapid fire Altmeri. Magic roiled beneath their words, ruining the lyrical cadence with sharp, angry spikes of energy. The spellsword couldn’t follow it. He and Ceirin had been trading words back and forth a bit, learning each other’s languages. But mostly that revolved around descriptions for food or curse words. Cut out of the conversation, Teldryn sat stiff backed in a rickety chair and watched her.

She was taller and thinner than her son. Dark hair, dark eyes, and dark clothes cut for travel. Her overall impression was that of a predatory bird, elegant and dangerous. Ceirin had inherited her rich olive toned complexion and there was something about the way her nose wrinkled when she scowled at them that looked awfully familiar. He caught himself wondering if Ceirin’s father found it cute, too. 

The arguing dropped off and then halted altogether. Nalarie turned away to look out the room’s small dirty window, a shaky hand rubbing across her forehead.

Ceirin slumped down to sit on the edge of the bed. He chewed his lip and stared at the floor. 

Teldryn shifted in his chair a bit so their knees were touching, a silent offering of support and reassurance. 

Ceirin pressed his leg back against Teldryn’s in acknowledgement.

“Will you help?” She continued after taking a deep breath. “I have tried every contact I have, I hired an investigator… I had to see if maybe he had run away? If he had been in contact with you at all?” 

“Mom, I haven’t seen Siri since he was home for the holidays before I left. I never wrote, and I haven’t heard from any of you.” Ceirin’s shoulders were hunched and Teldryn could see the muscles in his jaw shifting. “What exactly happened?”

Nalarie look down at her son, hesitating. She seemed to notice Teldryn for the first time, then. Her eyes tightened at the sight of their knees touching.

“I would prefer to speak in private.” Her disapproval dripped from every syllable. 

Teldryn stared her down. _She didn’t like him near her son? That was alright. It was mutual._

“And I would prefer if we weren’t speaking at all. But Teldryn and I are together so either you tell me what you came here to or we leave.”

That set her back on her heels. Her chin lifted and Teldryn thought she would argue some more. He clenched his teeth to keep from saying something really scathing, knowing that as satisfactory as it might be in the moment, it wouldn’t help. She stared at Ceirin, looking him over. Then she sighed, her shoulders and chin dropping. 

“They took him, didn’t they? I had hoped…” 

She told them everything.

Months ago, Elsirion had been approached at school by a small group of Thalmor under the premise of taking such a promising student out on a mock training exercise as a reward. Elsirion had been thrilled, had begged her to let him go. So she’d signed the permission forms. They had taken him to Skyrim, intending to be gone about two weeks. When they had returned, he hadn’t been with them. 

There had been no apology. No search party. No investigation. The official paperwork simply said ‘training accident’ as if that should be answer enough. Somewhere between Skyrim and Summerset, one underage and overly powerful mer mageling was dead, or hurt, or lost, or imprisoned. And no one would tell her which it was.

She and her husband had petitioned for an investigation, but it had been denied. They had managed to leave Alinor without rousing the suspicions of the Thalmor, and were here to attempt a search themselves. 

The two left Nalarie to get settled into her room and rest. As they walked back to the house, they talked it over.  
“Teldryn, you don’t have to…”

“Don’t start with me. I’m going with you and that’s final. Dragons. Thalmor. Whatever. So, where to?”

That got a watery laugh out of the rogue, who had been looking pallid and shaken since receiving the news. Whatever dire things he had anticipated in confronting his mother, this had not been on his list.

“Well… I can start by having Delvin and Karliah snoop around. If it’s illegal and no one is supposed to know, Delvin can usually find out. Karliah has a knack for finances. If they funded their trip or set up accounts or supplies here ….she might be able to track it.”

“Alright. Not to be the voice of doom, but Skyrim is a big place with an awful lot of wilderness. They can’t look everywhere. Is there some way we can narrow it down for them? Assuming they’ll agree to help. You did offer to resign specifically to protect them from things like Thalmor scrutiny. What happens if they voted you out?”

Ceirin ignored the last part of his question and focused on the first.

“We have packs full of Dwemer items to sell. The place to do that is Markarth. So we will be going there anyway. Markarth is also home to a Thalmor garrison. I’ve done a few odd jobs for the Commander there. He seems… ok? For a Thalmor. Maybe they can dig up some dirt, something I can use as leverage to get him to tell me if he knows anything about this.”

“Markarth, then? When do we leave?”

“I want to go now…but we need to get our gear repaired, clean the stuff we brought home, give the guild time to check into things, then to pack up again…” Ceirin ticked things off on his fingers as they got into the house. “Maybe a week?”

“That feels like too long.” His hands clenched into fists.

“I know. But it’s a good plan to start. It’ll get better when we learn more.”

Ceirin had confidence in his own abilities, and he could think on his feet. But there was no way they could hope to pull this off without a plan. Teldryn was proud of the rogue for recognizing that.

Ceirin nodded, still worried. He dumped his coat over a chair and sat, staring, apparently at a loss for what to do next.

“Your shirt is on inside out.” Teldryn grinned when he noticed the state his lover had left the house in that morning. “You should fix that.”

Ceirin glanced at one his sleeves and then glared at him. _With that stupid, adorable nose wrinkle…_

He leaned down and kissed the rogue. It had been too long a day with too much emotion and too many complications. All he had wanted that morning was for Ceirin to get back from his meeting as soon as possible so they could spend the rest of the day in bed.

He moved to straddle the altmer as they kissed, fumbling to try and get the hem loose. 

He drew back when Ceirin made a sort of sound in his throat. He couldn’t tell if it was a good sound or not.

“Unless, you don’t want the distraction?”

“No. By all means. Distract me. _Please._ ” 

The next kiss ended with Teldryn swallowing back a startled yelp as Ceirin wrapped his arms around the spellsword’s hips and stood, carrying him to the bed.

A week. They had a week before they’d be back out on the road again. Barring any further interruptions, they would put that time to very good use.

 

-End-


End file.
